The Huntress Trilogy 01 The Vampire With the Golden Gun

by Chanel Smith

  “Pardon me.” The thought suddenly passed through my mind to ask if she had any Grey Poupon. I’m not sure what it is about the British accent, but it makes us Americans do stupid things. I restrained myself. “We are planning to stay over in London for a few days. What ought I do about our luggage?” What ought I do? Where did that come from?

  “Are you absolutely certain about your plans, sir?” the attendant replied. I swooned a little at the sound of her accent, as well as her penetrating green eyes. I wasn’t the type to be led astray from Ellen – she took good care of me – and so I pressed forward, ignoring the blush that was rising up.

  “Quite certain,” I replied.

  “Very well, then.” She began to explain to me what needed to be done to secure my luggage and reschedule the flight. The flight numbers, departure times and destinations all rattled around in my head, but as she spoke, she was writing it all down. Thank God that the English were often very thorough. I would never have been able to remember a single part of what she told me.

  “Thank you very much,” I said, turning in time to be joined by Ellen, who had finished her call with the mystery person from TFL.

  “Are we all set, then?”

  There was a little bit of that British accent and the phrasing of the question wasn’t exactly like the Ellen that I had known for years. I didn’t feel so bad, since Ellen was doing it too. I knew that the fact that Americans tend to end sentences with a preposition drove the English mad, but why exactly, did we feel the need to take on all of the idiomatic stereotypes as well? Rather than commenting, I simply pushed the paper with the notes on it toward Ellen.

  Getting our luggage wasn’t going to be nearly as easy as the woman at the counter had described. When is anything in an airport easy? As long as a person does not alter course from the rigid line, things work out just fine, but swerve off course and total chaos becomes the norm. To complicate matters, we weren’t certain what hotel we were staying in. Ellen made another call.

  “I was told to just give all of our flight information to Rochester and Rochester would take care of everything,” she said, disconnecting from her call.

  “Rochester? Seriously?” I chuckled. “Is he the butler or something?” The moment I heard the name, my mind started racing toward where and why I had heard it. I could hear the whiny tone that was used to pronounce it. I knew it was from a serial television program that I’d seen as a kid, but what the hell was it? I also knew I would be haunted by more than just whatever ghost we were being sent to track down. “Rochester,” I repeated it aloud using the tone that I’d remembered.

  Ellen gave me that, ‘come on, let’s get serious’ look. “Anyway, our driver will be here in a few moments to pick us up and take us to our hotel, so we need to find our way to ground transportation.”

  “Great.” I started looking up at signs and following arrows. “So, what is this case about?”

  “Apparently there are ghosts in the Tube.”

  “What tube?”

  “You know, The Tube. The Underground. London’s subway system.”

  “Oh, okay, the Tube.” Something in the back of my mind knew that the Londoners called their subway system the Tube and that I’d heard the term used before; it had just slipped my mind. There was a lot of that going on lately. I wondered if it was a negative side effect connected with being possessed by ghosts, demons and other evil forces over and over again. Rochester. Who the hell was Rochester?

  My question was answered, at least in part, a few minutes later when we encountered a man – who actually reminded me of the professor from The Paper Chase – who was holding up a sign with our names written on it near the exit to Ground Transportation. What was the actor’s name? He did the Smith Barney commercials too. Why was my brilliant mind being wasted on such trivial stuff? I started to share my thoughts with Ellen, but decided against it as the man spoke and a strong urge to laugh hit me. He sounded just like the Paper Chase guy.

  Passing me another of her looks, Ellen introduced us, clearly the adult in the situation. “I’m Ellen and this is my husband, Monty.”

  “I am pleased to meet you both.”

  “The pleasure is ours,” I responded. When had I ever used that phrase before?

  “Very well, then,” he replied. “Shall we be on our way?”

  I couldn’t help feeling that I was being scrutinized and coming up short as Rochester looked down his long, narrow nose at me. He’d probably already surmised that I was not the serious member of our team. If he was anything like old “what’s his name” on The Paper Chase, he probably didn’t approve of my sense of humor.

  Ellen always knew when crazy stuff was going on in my mind and she nudged me with her elbow when we got in the car. “What is your problem?” she whispered.

  “Smith Barney, they make money the old-fashioned way. They earn it.” I pulled the voice off perfectly, just before Rochester was seated in the driver’s seat of the Rolls-Royce that was taking us to our hotel. He looked up in the mirror at us for an instant. Had he heard my impersonation? I began to think that with him, it probably wouldn’t matter one way or the other; he wasn’t going to approve of me regardless of what I did or said. I wish that I could remember that guy’s name.

  “So, what exactly is going on in the Tube?” I asked, regaining my composure and attempting to get a hold on the professional that I really was. I wasn’t exactly sure what had made me so silly; too many ghostly blows to the head, perhaps?

  “There is a certain portion of the line that is experiencing paranormal activity.”

  “Paranormal activity? Like what, dear?” There it was again… Grey Poupon, anyone?

  “Doors on the train opening and closing in the middle of a transport, ghost sightings, inexplicable screams; you know, the usual.” She was as cool and matter of fact about it as always. I realized that some of that attitude had started to rub off on me as well over the last several months.

  “And TFL is?”

  “Transport for London. They oversee the transportation sector of the city.”

  “How did they get your name and number?” It was true that we didn’t exactly take out ads in internationally read newspapers or magazines. We barely even passed out business cards.

  “It was through some contractor connection that Marcus has here in London.”

  “So, are we going to have time to grab some fish and chips from a pub and drink a pint before we start work?” I was looking forward to experiencing at least a little bit of the local culture, even if we were going to be spending most of our time working.

  “I don’t see why not. We have a few hours to settle in before our meeting with Mr. Black.”

  “Rochester,” I called out. Yes, I used the whiny tone. “Would you be able to direct us to a top-notch local pub where we might enjoy some fish and chips?”

  The driver looked up in the mirror, pained that he would actually be required to speak to me. “Actually, sir, there is a floating pub on the Thames right close to your hotel; lovely view of Big Ben and Westminster Palace.”

  I was hooked immediately, though I was certain that the added comment about the view was directed toward Ellen rather than myself. I couldn’t shake the feeling that in the mind of Rochester, I was nothing more than an unpleasant piece of baggage that had to be endured in order to do business with Ellen.

  It wasn’t long before we pulled up in front of the Park Plaza Riverbank. I could see what appeared to be Big Ben and Westminster Palace across the river. I was going to be staying very near the queen’s house. Though I needed little help getting in the mood, it was an added touch which only served to increase my excitement.

  “Kind of nice to be rid of the Smith Barney, law professor guy,” I commented once we were alone in our room.

  “What are you talking about and why are you acting so weird?”

  “Rochester. He’s just like that law professor on The Paper Chase.”

  “Do you mean John Houseman?”
r />   “Yeah! That’s the guy.” She had at least made the same connection, though it did little to make me stop acting goofy. We took a moment to settle into our room, but I was too excited to sit still. Ellen finally gave in to my childish energy and we started out the door.

  Chapter Two

  Harold Black was not nearly as stuffy as Rochester, but there was no doubt that he was pretty much all business. Having enjoyed a pint on the floating pub along with the best fish and chips I’d ever tasted, not that I was necessarily a connoisseur, I had been able to get most of my silliness under control. A portion of that could be linked to the fact that Ellen was becoming a little irritated with me. Since she wasn’t given to being irritated often, I knew that I was behaving badly. I reordered my brain toward being professional, though the Rochester thing was still lingering in the background.

  “How can we be of service, Mr. Black?” I asked, taking the lead in order to let Ellen know that I was serious.

  “I’m not quite sure exactly,” he replied, wrinkling his brow. “We seem to have some inexplicable goings on between the Vauxhall and Stockwell stations.”

  “What sort of goings on?” Ellen asked.

  Mr. Black hesitated. Talking about ghosts as though they were a real possibility clearly wasn’t something that he did on a regular basis. In fact, he probably wasn’t any more of a believer than I had been before Ellen opened up my eyes in some very profound and very real ways. I, like Mr. Black, still preferred to try to come up with any other way of explaining the unexplained rather than immediately jumping into the paranormal world. I decided to help him out.

  “Mr. Black, strange and inexplicable things aren’t always related to ghosts or paranormal activity. Just tell us what has been reported and we’ll make the determination as to the cause. Fair enough?”

  “Fair enough.” He visibly relaxed.

  Ellen smiled at me, which let me know that I was once again gaining her approval. Because ghosts and paranormal activity were commonplace to her, she often forgot that there were plenty of people who felt extremely uncomfortable with talking about that sort of thing. Putting them at ease about it was often my department.

  “Initially, we thought that there was some sort of mechanical failure taking place with the trains. The doors will open inexplicably, and of course, that in turn, automatically applies the brakes and stops the train. The train operators have to close the doors again before the train can move forward. We checked out the mechanical systems, finding nothing amiss. So, we started looking into it a little bit further and discovered that this particular anomaly was only taking place on the line between the Vauxhall and Stockwell stations.”

  “That hardly qualifies as paranormal activity, Mr. Black,” I responded. “Perhaps some sort of magnetic field or alternate energy source is somehow interfering?”

  “We checked on all of those things as well,” he smiled. We were at least making a professional connection, even if I couldn’t seem to impress Rochester. “The opening and closing of the doors by itself is not what has everyone in a dither.” Again, he hesitated.

  “What else has occurred, Mr. Black?” Ellen spoke softly, almost like she was encouraging a child to eat their applesauce.

  “Some have said that they felt a cold wind or evil presence, heard voices and have seen images connected with the door openings. There were even reports of horrible screams. All sorts of investigations have taken place along the line between the two stations, but nothing out of the ordinary has been found.”

  Mr. Black seemed ashamed of himself because he had called in ‘ghost hunters’ to solve the problem he was facing. However, he also seemed desperate to come up with answers as well. “There is a sense of urgency to have the problem solved.”

  “There always is,” Ellen smiled. “Has anyone’s life been threatened or put at risk?”

  “Not that I know of; at least, not directly. We are very concerned about the opening doors. It wouldn’t do for one of the passengers to fall from the train. They are, of course, directed not to lean against the doors while the train is in motion, but you know how people are…”

  “Yes,” I smiled. “There always has to be one in every crowd.”

  “We can’t afford that one. We’ve taken enough heat for the amount of money that we’ve spent in the last several years upgrading and adding lines to help with the increased traffic load because of the Queen’s Jubilee and the Olympics. We don’t need any more critics, besides the other liabilities and possible deaths that could happen.”

  “I’d like to see the train line on a commuter’s map if possible,” Ellen said to the man across the desk.

  “Oh, certainly,” he responded, pushing his chair back a little from the desk and pulling out a blueprint drawer from just below the desk’s top. He removed a full color rendition of the various stations across London and the connecting rails. Mr. Black placed the map on the desk and turned it to face his two guests. “The line runs between Vauxhall Station… right here; and right along here the very next stop is Stockwell.”

  Ellen shivered involuntarily as she looked at the tiny piece of rail that was being discussed.

  “Is something wrong?” I asked instinctively.

  “It’s nothing, dear.” That was her code for ‘I’ll tell you later.’ “Can you tell me about anything that might be happening near the area that could have caused a disturbance?” Ellen asked.

  “Disturbance to what? What sort of thing are you talking about?”

  “Excavations, major renovations, which may have entailed demolitions and such?” she replied.

  “We are adding a new line that crosses under the existing one between Vauxhall and Stockwell. Is that the sort of thing that you mean?”

  “Have they dug up anything odd? I mean, like, archeological artifacts or anything like that?” Ellen asked.

  “The contractors haven’t reported anything to me. There is a great deal of interest and some controversy surrounding the excavation that is going on, mostly from archeological societies and whatnot. There would certainly be a big to do if anything was discovered. They would probably shut down the entire operation if a pinky finger was found.”

  “They have a way of swaying public opinion and hanging up progress, don’t they?” There I was again, going crosswise to the green, environmental thing. I simply couldn’t avoid the comment. It did seem like someone was always standing by to throw the kibbutz into new construction projects or any type of progress to protect either something that was long since dead and gone or some fuzzy little tree owl that was on the endangered list. I received a look for my comment and wondered why I hadn’t already learned to keep my mouth shut.

  “Mr. Black,” she quickly jumped back into the conversation. “Have you seen or heard anything or did the investigators see or hear anything? Has there been any paranormal activity in the new tunnel?”

  “I haven’t personally seen anything and neither have the investigators. Why?”

  “I was just hoping you might be able to give me a firsthand account,” she replied.

  “Would it be helpful if you had all of the firsthand accounts? I can have my administrative assistant make copies of the claims and complaints and provide those to you.”

  “That would be helpful, thank you.” She tapped her lips with a long, sexy finger several times as the wheels were spinning in her head. It wasn’t exactly a convenient time to have amorous thoughts about my wife, but whenever she did that, I could barely contain myself.

  Harold Black pressed the intercom button on his phone. For some reason, I hoped that he would ask for Miss Moneypenny. Apparently, not all of my silliness had left me. “Penelope? Could you make copies of the, um, uh, ghost files and bring them to me?” He was embarrassed that they actually had ghost files.

  “Mr. Black, would it be possible for us to ride the train between the two stations in question; just to see what turns up?” Ellen asked. The question drew me back to business.

  “Of cours
e,” he said. “Actually, I have asked the TFL to provide badges for the two of you. It will allow you access to the facilities necessary; actually any place that you want to go on the Tube. We’ll need to snap a photo of each of you. Penelope will handle that before you leave.”

  “What about access into the new tunnel?” Ellen asked.

  “I can arrange that. Do you think it is connected to our problem?”

  I was on to where she was headed. “How long after the contractors started excavating the new tunnel, did the problems begin to take place?” I asked.

  “Two or three weeks maybe.” The expression on his face showed sudden recognition. “About the time they crossed under or came very near to the Vauxhall-Stockwell line. I will arrange access to the new tunnel for you immediately. In fact, I’ll arrange a meeting with the project manager… say tomorrow morning, ten-ish?”

  “That would be lovely,” Ellen replied.

  I threw her one of her own ‘behave’ glances and received a ‘what?’ look in return. Then she winked at me and smiled. So, I wasn’t the only one who was feeling a bit randy. Ditching the meeting and the whole ghost thing in order to go back to the hotel would have been just dandy with me.

  “Penelope, please phone Mr. Hayford and patch it through to my office, if you don’t mind,” he said into the intercom, then leaned back in his chair, had a sudden thought and pushed the button again. “Also, we need to upgrade those security badges to green, giving our new consultants the same authority as my own. Temporarily, of course,” he said as he leaned back into his chair and awaited the call. It was only a moment.

  “I have Mr. Hayford on the line.” Penelope’s voice came over the intercom.

  “Mr. Hayford. How are things going on the project this afternoon?” There was a pause while he listened to whatever the project manager was telling him. “Mr. Hayford, I hate to interrupt; we can talk about this in a little while. What I need to know is if you can meet with our…”