Brian Helsing: The World's Unlikeliest Vampire Hunter Box Set 1 - Missions 1-3

by Gareth K Pengelly

  “Oh.”

  “You’re a big-wig in the vampire world,” Brian stated. “And I’ve seen you can handle one paralytic Nymph. But seven and a Helsing? How do you fancy your odds now?”

  “For fuck’s sake,” Cassandra exclaimed. “Am I ever going to get you on your own?”

  “Hope not.”

  “Yeah, you’d better hope not.”

  “And you’d better get out of here, leech,” Pandora told her, brandishing a six-inch saveloy like a club.

  “Fine. Ladies, I bid you a good evening. And Helsing,” she turned to him, shaking her head. “One of these days, I’ll get you to myself. And when that day comes…”

  “I’ll be ready,” he finished for her.

  “Somehow, I doubt that.”

  With those final parting words, she vanished in a cloud of pungent black smoke.

  “She really doesn’t like you,” Scylla told him.

  “I know.”

  Despite his outward shell of bravado just then, deep inside he was troubled. Just as Cassandra had rightly pointed out, him beating her last night had been mere fluke. His chi-enhanced strength, taught him by Gertie only that very same day, had merely surprised the vampire. He knew that next time they fought, it would be on her terms. Terms he wasn’t sure he would have signed up for had they been presented him in black and white on paper.

  “That was Cassandra,” Ariadne mused as she shovelled a chip into her mouth with a tiny wooden fork. “You know that right? She’s one of the worst leeches of the lot.”

  “I know.”

  “Wouldn’t like to be in your shoes,” Pandora laughed. “She’s not gonna rest till she sinks her fangs into you.”

  “I know.”

  “You keep saying that. You’re starting to sound like a broken record.”

  “I… come on, let’s get out of here. Every time she translocates she leaves behind the smell of death and perfume and it turns my stomach.”

  “Where to?” Scylla asked him.

  He shrugged.

  “Leeroys?”

  “Leeroys. What do you think, girls?”

  “Do they serve food?” one of the Nymphs asked in return.

  “Peanuts and crisps,” Brian told her.

  “What are crisps?”

  “Well, follow us and you’ll find out.”

  The group started off towards the nightclub, thoughts of their vampiric altercation now gone in the face of the dancing to come, before Scylla stopped him, pointing out his Iron Maiden hoody.

  “Don’t think they’ll let you in wearing that. Want to go back to the B&B and get changed?”

  Brian pondered for a moment.

  “Nah. I’m sure there’ll be an ATM on the way.”

  Chapter Eighteen: Back To Normality (After A Fashion)

  Brian pulled onto his driveway, switching off the rumbling engine and just sitting there, relaxed, as the exhausts pinged and cooled behind him. Home, at long last. He’d been in Newquay but a weekend, yet it had oddly enough felt like a lifetime. Another mission, another strange turn of events. One such strange happenstance texted him, even now, the message appearing on the car’s screen over Bluetooth.

  It had been a good idea, buying Scylla a phone so they could keep in touch, but her texting skill was woefully lacking, the message garbled, misspelled, with random emoticons dotted all over the place. He laughed as he read it. She’d get better at it with practice.

  She was asking when he’d next be up there, to visit. He pondered that a few moments. He didn’t know, in all honesty. But soon, he hoped; the girl, if girl a nigh-immortal Water Nymph could be called, was easy to get on with. And, as Brian’s neighbours in the B&B’s other bedrooms would have attested to, extremely enthusiastic in the bedroom department, as though five centuries of pent up frustration had at long last found an extremely appreciative, if now somewhat sore, outlet. And yet, what would the Masters think to such a liaison if they ever found out? He couldn’t imagine they’d have approved of him sleeping with what they saw to be the enemy. Then again, the other Helsings had done no less, or so XII had told him. He wondered how they’d handled their disapproving mentors.

  “Just ask,” came a disembodied voice from the pair of eyes in the rear-view mirror.

  “Jesus, XII,” Brian gasped, jumping in his seat. “Can you at least knock three times, or something, to let me know you’re going to pop up?”

  The shade in the reflected back seat shook his vaguely translucent head.

  “Nope. I’ve tried it. Turns out ghosts and poltergeists are different things entirely.”

  “Fair enough. Anyway, yeah, so how do I go about handling this whole Nymph situation? I can’t see Heimlich approving. And I have no idea how I should act around Gertie. I thought maybe we were going somewhere, but obviously she has a different idea of taking things slow to mine.”

  “Well, do you see things lasting with this Nymph?”

  “No idea,” he admitted. “I’d like that, yes, but we’re from different worlds. Who knows? But I’d like to enjoy it while it lasts without the Masters breathing down my neck.”

  “Then simple; don’t tell them anything. Worked for me.”

  And with that, the ghost vanished, leaving Brian precisely back where he’d started. Worst Obi-Wan ever, Brian thought darkly. Strike me down and I shall become more useless than ever. The pair of eyes suddenly reappeared in the mirror.

  “Oi – I can hear your thoughts, you know.”

  “Good.”

  Brian climbed from the car, dragging his bag out from the back seats and closing the door. He paused, seeing the surfboard sticking from the boot, before deciding that he’d come back for it with two free hands. He unlocked his front door, pushing it open, as ever surprised to see no bills cluttering his hallway carpet. A strange and refreshing feeling, not having debts looming over his head, one that he was still getting used to. He dumped his bag by the stairs and made his way into the living room, then through it, to the kitchen, turning the kettle on and dumping a tea bag into a mug; he’d had enough of alcohol the last few days.

  “Attentive as ever, I see, young Helsing.”

  Brian started, flinging his mug to the floor, where its distinctly unicorn-piss-free form shattered in an instant.

  “God dammit, Heimlich. If it’s not XII, it’s you.”

  “Hmm?”

  The Master of Magic raised an eyebrow, regarding him strangely from where he sat on the living room couch. Brian waved a dismissive hand.

  “Nothing. What are you doing here?”

  “Well, I was leafing through the weekend’s bank statements and noticed a substantial amount of alcohol had been consumed. Along with a supremely inordinate amount of chicken. So rather than waiting for you to surface and finally show your hung-over face at the Sanctum, I thought I’d pop over and debrief you in the comfort of your own home.”

  “Somewhat less comfortable knowing that you can pop in and out whenever you please. How’d you get in, anyway?”

  “Poof!” Heimlich waved his hands. “Magic.”

  “Fair enough. I’m assuming there’s no mystic runes you can teach me that I can inscribe on my door and stop people dropping in unannounced.”

  “None that I’m willing to teach you just yet.”

  “Thought as much.”

  “Anyway, to the point at hand; how did your mission go? Everything went as smoothly as planned?”

  “Not in any way shape or form. You can inform Friedrick that guided missiles are a no-no when it comes to hostage situations. For some reason, high-explosives and innocents in close proximity don’t go well together in the heat of battle. And next time he comes up with some kind of contraption like that, have him install an immobiliser or something. I had to rescue it from some sticky-fingered locals.”

  “Someone stole your board?” Heimlich’s voice was incredulous. “No damage I’m assuming?”

  “Not to the board, no. To the chavs, well, they got what they deserved.”
/>
  “Good. And I hear nothing on the news about any surfers getting eaten, so that’s also a good thing. I did see that they cancelled the first day, however, due to a shark attack. Second day went as planned, though, so I’m assuming you, how did you put it? Went all Helsing on their scaly asses?”

  “Something like that, yes,” Brian carefully replied, fixing himself up a fresh cup of tea after the aborted first attempt. “I didn’t need to kill any, actually. There were some negotiations involved. And we ended up coming up with a compromise everyone was happy with.”

  “A compromise? With man-eating Nymphs? Do tell. Did you persuade them to go for pizza instead?”

  “Nando’s, actually.”

  “Nando’s?”

  “Correct.”

  “I see. And what… they prefer it to the taste of humans?”

  “Oh god yes,” Brian nodded. “Massively so. I don’t think we’ll be having a Nymph problem any time soon, not in Newquay at least.”

  “Fantastic. Well that about clears everything up I needed to know. I’m assuming you’ll be coming in tomorrow for some training and to return that board?”

  “I will.”

  “Excellent.” Heimlich clapped his hands to his thighs with a sound of satisfied finality and rose, turning to move away, then paused, frowning. “Actually, there was one more thing.”

  “Aye?”

  “Who’s Scylla?”

  Brian froze.

  “How did you…? Have you been tapping my texts?”

  “The car is linked to the mainframe back at the Sanctum, so we can keep track of you. You know, in case of trouble. Your texts may or may not show up on my office computer. Anyway, you’re not in trouble, it’s just idle curiosity.”

  “I still find it a tad fucking invasive,” Brian protested. “But yeah, Scylla’s a girl I may have met in Newquay.”

  “Nice, I’m assuming?”

  “Very, we hit it off quite well, actually.”

  “Good.” As Heimlich stared at him, his face quite unreadable, Brian made sure to keep his eyes slightly averted from his gaze. If Heimlich was suspicious of that, he gave no sign. “Well, relationships aren’t forbidden for a Helsing. Just make sure it doesn’t interfere with your work. And it goes without saying, don’t go blowing all your earnings on lavish gifts. I was kind enough to let your boyfriend’s watch slide, but I shan’t a second time.”

  “Neil’s not my…”

  But Heimlich had already vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving Brian alone and not quite sure what to make of the encounter. The kettle whistled beside him and so he did the only thing any Englishman could do finding himself mired in such a strange situation.

  He made a cup of tea.

  Epilogue: Cunting Fuck Nuggets

  Marazion beach in winter was a cold and forbidding stretch of sand, even in the middle of the day with the sun feebly shining in the blue sky, yet still that didn’t stop the tourists from gawping and taking pictures of the looming castle upon the Mount, nor did it deter the local lunatic surfers. Brian glared at the surfboards, half tempted to reach out with the Mind Whip and pull them out from under their pretentious feet. He’d long come to the conclusion that all surfers were mentally ill douchebags and it would take a lot to convince him otherwise.

  “Concentrate, Helsing,” Gertie told him.

  “You concentrate. You’ve spent most of his training session staring at the scantily clad men and women on their boards.”

  “It’s called window-shopping. And I’m a Master, so it’s my prerogative. Besides, it gets tiresome being cooped up in the Sanctum with the same faces and figures burning into my eyes day in, day out. Wendy’s fat ass haunts my dreams, and not in a good way. Now come on, concentrate.”

  “Do I really need to be doing this?” Brian asked, the blood pouring into his head from his body and legs, turning his face red with the pressure.

  “Handstands are an important training tool. Nothing teaches concentration like knowing a moment’s distraction will have you landing flat on your face.”

  “We could have just gone skating. That would have done the same job and at least I wouldn’t have felt like my head was about to explode.”

  “Can you skate?”

  “No.”

  “Then shut up.”

  Brian sighed, a tendril of saliva pooling under his top lip threatening to spill over and fall into his eye, so he slurped it in and gazed about at the upside down beach.

  “Isn’t this the point where I lift some rocks into the air? Maybe pull an X-wing from the sand?”

  “That would attract attention.”

  “Standing on my head is attracting enough attention. That couple with the Jack Russell have been laughing at me for a solid five minutes.”

  “They’re not laughing at you. They’re laughing with you.”

  “I’m not laughing, so that doesn’t work.”

  “Then picture them naked. I am.”

  “It seems I’m the only person you never picture naked.”

  A pause, as she pondered his words, but he would never hear her answer, as a seemingly-never ending pair of slim legs began to emerge from the upside-down sea, distracting her attention.

  “Oh, hello,” she murmured. “Now there’s a body-boarder of whose body I could never get bored.”

  “God, you’re like a psychedelic, nympho midget.”

  “And you’re like someone who should really be concentrating on not breaking his neck.”

  Brian’s arms were beginning to tremble with the strain of holding his head clear from the sand, so he breathed out, relaxed, allowed the chi to flow and restore his strength, assuaging the aches and pains. The pair of shapely legs drew nearer, face still out of sight from his vantage point near the sand. Gertie turned towards the newcomer.

  “Hi there. I do hope I can help you with something.”

  “Well, actually, I was here to speak with Brian, if that’s okay, but you’ll certainly do until he’s finished doing… well, whatever it is he’s doing.”

  Brian’s arms collapsed, not through fatigue, but mere shock at the tones of that voice. Scrambling to his feet and spitting sand, he rubbed his eyes and stared.

  “Scylla?”

  “Hi,” she waved, smiling, eyes flashing with amusement at his shock.

  “How do you know Hel-, erm, Brian?” Gertie asked, trying her best to not let her eyes rove up and down the Water Nymph’s wetsuit clad form.

  “I met him last weekend on his business trip to Newquay,” she replied. “Thought I’d pop down and pay him a surprise visit. He didn’t tell me he had such a pretty young friend.”

  “My thoughts exactly,” Gertie said, darting a meaningful glare at Brian, though what meaning it carried, he hadn’t a hanging clue. “Are you going to introduce us?”

  Brian groaned inwardly.

  “Gertie, Scylla. Scylla, Gertie.”

  “Pleased to meet you.”

  “Likewise.”

  The pair shook hands lightly, a shake that went on for a fraction of a second longer than Brian was comfortable with.

  “Well now you’re here,” Gertie told Scylla, “I’m sure Brian can take a break from his training for a bit. Fancy a drink?”

  “Oh, yes. Know any good pubs?”

  “Right this way!”

  The pair hooked arms and strode off down the beach, leaving a bewildered Brian standing in the sand. Cunting fuck nuggets, how the hell was he going to play this? He glanced into the shimmering seawater beside him. XII’s reflection was there, staring back up at him. It shrugged.

  “I’ve got nothing, lad. Sorry.”

  As the two began to recede down the beach, they turned back to him and Scylla called out.

  “Coming Brian? Or shall we get this party started without you?”

  Gertie whispered something into the Nymph’s ear and the pair burst out laughing. Brian would have flushed, had his face not already been bright red from his handstands. Hurrying to catch up, he cur
sed.

  The second unusual three-way in as many nights had suddenly landed in his lap, it seemed. And yet, should Gertie find out the truth behind this newcomer, it promised to end up even more bloody than the first. Not for the first time, Brian longed for his ordinary life back. A life where women, supernatural or otherwise, had never spared him so much as a second glance.

  It might have been boring, but good God, it would have been a whole lot simpler.

  ENJOY THIS BOOK?

  PLEASE LEAVE A REVIEW ON AMAZON! THE MORE REVIEWS IT GETS, THE MORE LIKELY GAZ IS TO WRITE ANOTHER!

  FANCY SOMETHING DARKER AND MORE EPIC IN SCALE? READ ‘THE GRAEME STONE SAGA’ STARTING WITH BOOK ONE ‘THE DESCENT TO MADNESS.’

  FANCY A HORROR? WHY NOT TRY THE ‘CORNISH GUARDIANS’ SERIES, STARTING WITH THE FIRST BOOK ‘THE KNACKER.’ (YES, THE VERY SAME KNACKER WHOSE TEARS, MIXED WITH UNICORN PISS, CONVEY INVULNERABILITY UPON MUSCLE CARS!)

  THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING AND GAZ HOPES BEYOND HOPE YOU ENJOYED THIS BOOK HALF AS MUCH AS HE ENJOYED WRITING IT

  MISSION #3: HOWLIN’ MAD

  Copyright © 2018 by Gareth K Pengelly.

  Writing and illustrations by Gareth K Pengelly.

  No part of this book may be taken, sold or reproduced without the express consent of the author. He can usually be plied with beer.

  All characters portrayed are clearly fictitious and any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental, and probably downright unfortunate.

  Other books by Gareth K Pengelly:

  Brian Helsing: The World’s Unlikeliest Vampire Hunter (Comedy Fantasy)

  Mission #1: Just Try Not To Die

  Mission #2: Surf’s Up

  Mission #3: Howlin’ Mad

  Mission #4: Land Of The Rising Damp

  Mission #5: Wicked Witch Of The North

  Mission #6: Where’s My Mummy?

  Mission #7: Cirque du Vampire