by Declan Finn
Merle blanched and looked around. “One of you was with him?”
Rory lit a cigarette with his Zippo. “I was there. Sort of.” He flipped the lighter closed with a clack. “Long story.”
Marco’s smile didn’t even twitch. He just watched Rory tell his half-truth (after all, he was there), and appreciated that if everyone else thought that Day had nearly killed the vampire, they would take the threat seriously.
Come to think of it, I don’t think there is a way to exaggerate this threat.
At this point, George spoke up. He raised his Guns & Ammo magazine and said, “Desert Eagle? Fifty-cal?”
Rory laughed. “And didn’t we try that, laddie? And a sword? The bullet to the head was what slowed him down, and not by much.”
“I don’t know much more than that,” Marco said. “Father, would you like to explain the rest?”
Rodgers started, and it didn’t get better. Rodgers had called the Vatican for everything that they had on something that even remotely looked like Day, and it wasn’t good. Everything pointed to a creature that was older than Rory. Then again, Rory was only a 20th century vampire; Day appeared to be older than most species on the planet, including the bugs. He may have been around in Paleolithic times, but if the Neanderthals ever saw him, none of them lived long enough to draw pictograms on a cave wall.
Day’s reputation was noted for killing whole cities. The Black Death took the blame for some of his kills, but they would have died if he hadn’t gotten them first. According to some of the stranger conspiracy theory websites, he was also spotted in Europe throughout the first half of the 20th century, and in Northern Ireland for the 70’s, and spent most of the latter half of the 1900s in the USSR. That last part made sense to Marco, since Day kept much of the accent.
The creature known as Day used to be British, apparently, working with the government during much of their later colonial period, after they had outlawed suttee and Thugee. Essentially, after the British had been done with any and all positive impact they could have had in the country, Day appeared. He might’ve been in Ireland during the 1170s, when the English first invaded Ireland, and in 1601, when they conquered the place properly, and hung around for as long as the persecutions and horrors lasted.
“You know, the British have always been such pricks,” said Rory, now perched on the loft staircase like a vulture.
“Day,” Father Rodgers continued, still speaking as though he was shooting for the back row of the Church, “as Marco noted, has extraordinary healing abilities, almost like he’s never been hit.”
“So we blow him up!” Rory said with enthusiasm. “Let’s see him heal with his body parts all over the place.”
Marco looked at his watch. “As of 23 hours ago, somebody decided to blow up New York City, again, so the military would shoot to kill anyone seen on a military base raiding supplies. Besides, an artillery shell would go right through this guy.”
“Oh?” Tiffany said, “and how do you know? When was the last time you blew up some demon?”
He smiled at her. “About the last time a neuron flared between your ears.”
“See!” she boasted. “I knew he’s never done something like this.”
Marco slapped his forehead and sighed. “Sarcasm just ricochets right off some people.” He shook his head. “I was also on a phone call before all this hit the fan. A vampire who saw Day in World War One swears he got hit with a mortar, and a flamethrower may have even been involved.”
Merle sighed, raised his hand, and said, “While the suggestions and the commentary are all very nice, can we ask a very simple question? What is he?”
Father Rodgers started, as though he had already mentioned it, or that it was already self-evident. “A demon, of course.”
Blink. That sounded strange, even to Merle. “Shouldn’t demons be a little more, you know, more in appearance and power? From the way you guys have described him, he isn’t… much. Aside from some strength and healing issues, there isn’t a hell of a lot from him.”
Marco raised a hand and a finger, as though politely interjecting. “Add one more ability. He turned to Rory before Rory made his appearance known. He can sense creatures around him. At least creatures that aren’t human. I’m not sure if his range is limited, or his ability to track humans is limited to tracking rage.” He looked to Rodgers. “Please continue. I’m sure you can elucidate better on the rest of it.”
Rodgers sighed, slid a cigar out from his jacket, and spent a moment lighting up. “Demons can only operate within the medium they choose. Considering the power level you’ve mentioned, I can’t imagine that he needs much more than his increased strength and healing, unless he goes up against something of equal power.” The priest paused a moment. “As far as demons go, in general, if you want to be impressed, make a deal with him, or tell him your full name. Then don’t be surprised if you wind up exploding from the inside out.”
Merle smiled slightly. “So it would be a good idea not to get into a long conversation with him,” he noted. “That should be easy enough; I work for the government, and we don’t make deals with terrorists.”
“That was before Obama, wasn’t it?” Marco muttered.
Tara and Yana glared at him. “What? I’m a Republican. I believe in killing terrorists, not GITMO catch-and-release.” Marco frowned thoughtfully. Being a Physician Assistant, he asked, “What’s this guy’s biology?”
There was a slight pause. Marco and Merle exchanged a glance. Merle knew where he was going, but couldn’t see how that could help.
“From what we can tell,” Rodgers said slowly, “he’s quite human except for a few changes. The healing, advanced strength. As I said, he’s probably possessed someone from long, long ago.”
Rory, leaning against a bookcase now, said, “How much strength? He tossed me around like a rag doll, but a strong vampire can do that, can’t they?”
Rodgers waved the hand with the cigar, drawing a line of smoke in the air. “Oh, the usual vague terms about strength enough to level armies, that sort of thing. However, no one’s ever dissected this guy, so we don’t know what he looks like inside.”
“I can show you your own insides, if you like.”
The room turned. There was Mister Day, all bright and shiny and looking as though he hadn’t been in a scuffle. With him came the scent of death, gently wafting through the store.
“How are you all doing?” Day said smoothly. “Is everyone good? I’d hate for you to be put out when I kill you all.”
Everyone took a look at each other. Day hadn’t been slowed down by bombs or bullets or swords or fire. So, they were running out of options.
Day stepped forward. “I think—”
Day cut himself off, and looked to his right. “What the–?”
A gold streak shot up next to Day, impacting him like a wall. The demon was blasted out of sight.
Everyone looked at the newcomer, and Marco smiled like the cavalry had arrived, mainly because he had appeared in the form of a curvy, 5’6” woman with long red-gold hair that flowed down to her shoulder blades. She was also wearing a gold cheongsam that could have come from Japantown a few blocks from here.
Merle nodded towards her. “Hi, Amanda.”
Merle’s eyes flickered from her to Marco. The last time I saw a look like he’s giving her, it was my wedding photo, while I was looking at Kristen. This boy is so in love.
* * * *
Marco slid off of the counter, moved casually towards Amanda, and threw his arms around her as though was a life raft, and he had been holding his breath under water for four minutes.
God, I love this woman! Marco thought, even though he would not admit it under pain of death. “I thought I lost you,” he whispered.
She hugged him back, and answered, “You almost did.”
Marco didn’t let go and for a long moment that was awkward for everyone else, they said nothing.
“Um, guys?” Tiffany asked. “Shouldn’t we be d
oing something about the demon?”
They broke apart, but they didn’t go too far from each other. “I think he’s had enough for the night,” Amanda said. “The sun will come up soon. Demons I know would rather not be in daylight if they can avoid it.” She looked back to Marco. “How are you?”
Marco’s hands rested on her shoulders, still not willing to break off completely. “Jennifer Bosley called, offered to adopt me as her minion if you didn’t make it.”
Amanda grinned. “That slut,” she said in a complete deadpan. “I will have to talk with her again.”
Marco’s little smile lengthened microscopically. “Indeed.”
Their eyes met, and for a long moment, the world ceased to exist. Literally, the entire world faded away, leaving the two of them alone in their own little world.
Or to be precise, Amanda’s little world, as Marco once again slid into her mind through the prolonged eye contact of vampire to human. It was a trick he had pulled once before, to a tactical advantage. This was the first time he had ever done something like this for sociability.
Marco glanced around at the perfect blackness. “Nice digs.”
Amanda noted the sudden change. “I think making eye contact did this.”
Marco shrugged. “Oh well. Bram Stoker would have been the first one to have told me not to look a vampire in the eyes.”
Amanda poked him in the stomach. “Hey. Last time, you used it to hack into my mind.”
He waggled his eyebrows. “It worked, didn’t it?”
She rolled her eyes while shaking her head. “And you spent that time telling me you loved me, so other vampires would think we weren’t paying attention.”
Marco blinked, several times, and in rapid succession. As he spoke, every time he cut himself off, his body started, as though he had been a piece of poorly edited film. “And I—knew you’d play along while I—made that—profession.”
Amanda cocked her head. “Marco, what were you going to say?”
Marco’s brow furrowed, and his smile remained, giving him a confused look. “Why do you ask?”
“You are skipping like scratched DVD. I didn’t know anyone could hide what they were thinking when they were mind-melded.”
“Oh, darling, you have no idea.” Marco arched his brow and smirked. “Maybe we should talk to everyone else before they wonder if we’re having a shared seizure?”
They both snapped back to reality, and Marco’s hands were still on Amanda’s shoulders. He squeezed her arms, then turned back to the rest of the store.
“Okay, we’ll get rid of ‘Mister Day’ next time he comes out in the open.”
Everyone looked at him strangely, proclaiming victory before a plan had even formed.
Tiffany raised a hand, and hopped up and down, disturbingly showing that she wasn’t wearing a bra. Marco averted his eyes even as she asked, “And how, oh supernatural expert who’s been here for only five minutes?”
Marco’s eyes became hooded. “Because if we don’t get it done next time, we won’t get another shot, since we’ll all be dead.”
“Marco,” Father Rodgers asked before they could wander all over the place again. “Why did you want to know about his biology?”
“Nerve points,” Amanda answered for him. “There are some points on the body you hit, and parts stop working. Hands, spine, brain, et cetera. Yes, he is human. I’ve seen his physiology.”
This is the best part of having her for cavalry, she knows what I’m thinking ahead of time… and she feels good to hug, very soft, padded in all the right places, and even smells good… and I don’t think that’s a perfume to cover up the smell of death.
Merle smiled and nodded at the two of them, looking amused. “But that only works for a few moments, and only if you can get close.”
Marco peered into Amanda’s eyes a moment more. There were so lovely dark and deep, he could just fall in again and… he broke off from that thought to scan the chemical shelf before Merle. What some of it had to do with magic supplies, he had no idea. He reached over for a jar of hydrochloric acid. “He can heal tissue, but let’s see him heal at the molecular level.”
Amanda looked at the others, then smiled lovingly at him. “Atoms of acid lack at least one electron on the uppermost level of the electron rings, an election it should have. It burns because it steals electrons of atoms that hold matter together.”
At Tiffany’s blankest look, Yana dumbed down the explanation. “Your body is made up of sugar as the most common component. If you were to dip your hand in acid, it would caramelize.”
The overly busty bleached blonde blinked. “My hand would be a caramel candy?”
“No, it would turn to a lump of coal,” Marco said. Like your brain, you stupid, bloody, idiotic, mindless blonde!
“Oh.”
Merle shook his head, rolled his eyes, then looked to the priest. “Father Rodgers? Does anyone know what attracts him? Why did Day just move here? There has to be a reason.”
There was a hesitation from Rodgers.
Amanda cleared her throat. “Um, Merle… He follows patterns of rage, it attracts him.”
Marco looked around at the others in the room, wondering if they knew. Merle looked at Marco. He knew. Yana stared straight at Marco curiously, as though wondering what he had been doing with his time since the news had reached the city. George looked up from his magazine, and then went back to reading it—he just didn’t care, one way or another. (After all, the man turns into an Irish wolfhound. Who does that?)
I must have lit up like Hiroshima at midnight of a new moon in 1945. Marco turned to Amanda to thank her, and met her eyes. “Thanks.”
Rory, on the other hand, sighed, and whipped a cigarette out of his jacket, lit it casually, and said, “Do we know what the little fecker did in all these places? Or is it all just rumors?”
“They’re all just rumors to start with, son,” Rodgers drawled. “We just haven’t the evidence, ’less you know someone who survived any of those places?”
Marco smiled, and waved Rory down before the vampire could complain. “At the moment, who cares? Right now, it seems like we’re going to have to hit this guy with everything we have anyway. Merle, do you want to be in on this?”
Merle said, “I’m game, but why not throw everyone at this?”
“Long story. To start with, I’m bait. From what I can gather, he wants me… I’ve met him once, and that’s usually enough for me to piss off anybody. And for the pressure points, we need his guard down. For that, you’ll need someone that isn’t intimidating. Let’s face it, compared to this creature, I am nowhere near threatening. Rory and Amanda are, well, vampires. Yana can play sniper with her crossbow, and you have your… reputation. But me, I’m no one.”
Rory looked at the New Yorker with curiosity, as though he had admitted a deep dark secret. He glanced at his watch. “Almost dawn soon. Are we really going to place our bets on a hope that he acts like a vampire and is put on hold for a day?”
Marco nodded. “Maybe. If we’re lucky. That allows us to make the time and place of our response a matter of our choosing, not his.”
Merle: “How do you intend to do that?”
Marco smiled his most annoying smile. “Trust me.”
Chapter 19: Before the Storm
Merle waited for everyone to go home before he fell down onto his bed, face first.
Damn it, who knew I could once again be sucked in by vampires and monsters and whatever else this new guy is? I should’ve known. Part of the reason that I had become “the Initiative” was that I not only knew how to deal with the freaky stuff, I also attracted it. I was my own walking Hell-mouth. Joss Whedon didn’t need Sunnydale, I was available, and I could have used the money. Merle Kraft… freak-magnet. Oy.
But yes, Tiffany was right. He wasn’t being paid nearly enough. But with crap like the demonic highlander-as-terrorist, enough money was no longer a viable concept. He wondered if he could be paid in sleep, nerves of st
eel, or sanity points.
Now there was Marco’s plan. Marco’s plan called for Merle to stay out of the fray for as long as possible, preferably so that Merle didn’t even show his face. It was psychotically brave, it was noble, it was deeply insane, and it might even work.
That didn’t mean it was any less the product of a half-baked mind that relied on lots of chutzpah and just as much applied chemistry and martial arts skill. The odds of that being able to take down a who-knows-how-old demon didn’t strike Merle as very good.
What the kid’s thinking, I don’t know. It’s borderline insane, but I at least know where he’s coming from. I wanted a force that I could leave behind in San Francisco without their being a problem, and I guess it’s time to test that thesis. If this goes bad tonight, not only would I probably die, I wouldn’t be able to do my job outside of San Francisco for months, if at all.
Merle sighed. Well, then again, what were the odds that I’d be related to a brother from Hell, literally?
Merle sighed, leaned over, tapped a cigarette against the top of his night table. He sat up and lit up. Just when I thought it was safe on the streets of San Francisco.
“Merlin, you’re in San Francisco, it was never safe, and I should know.”
Merle inhaled deeply before looking over at his brother. Dalf Kraft emerged from a shadow in the corner that Merle didn’t know had been there before.
Merle exhaled in his brother’s direction. “So, Dalf, this Day fellow a friend of yours?”
“Hardly. I do not deal with knee breakers.”
A nod. “I would suppose you’re above that… or in the ranks of hell, does that mean you’re below that?
Dalf smiled. “I told you to run and hide, little brother.”
Merle turned, holding the cigarette to the side. “This have something to do with the UN again? Like last time?”