by Flynn, Mac
It was done, and we were in trouble.
Chapter 4
I groaned, clutched my head, and slowly rose to my feet. The exhaustion quickly left me and was replaced by that familiar feeling of rejuvenation I felt the last time this happened. "You-you could have warned me," I choked out. Vincent raised his head and glared at me over his glasses. I stumbled over to him and knelt in front of him. I don't know why I cared, but he looked ghastly. His pale face was even worse than usual, and his body shook and shuddered. "I didn't take too much, did I?"
"Quite a bit," he weakly growled.
I offered my hand to him. "Come on. Let's get you back home." He brushed aside my hand and raised himself to his feet. His feet may have agreed to the standing, but his legs objected to his weight and he swayed. He would have fallen if I hadn't caught him and steadied him with my side. I rolled my eyes and wrapped one of his arms over my shoulders. "Lean on me or we'll be here all night," I commanded him.
He grudgingly allowed me to help him down the alley and out into the street. We got a few glances from some of the people, but most didn't want to get involved. I hurried us across the sidewalk and to our car, where I stuffed Vincent into the passenger seat. He tried to slide over to the driver's seat, but being as weak as a kitten I grabbed him and pulled him back. "Oh no you don't, I'm not getting killed in a car crash because your foot decided to stop obeying you," I told him.
"You can't drive this car," he insisted.
I slammed his door, stuck my arms through the open window and yanked him against the door. "Stay." I dashed around the car and slid into the driver's seat before he could take it. "Now just hold on. I haven't driven a stick in a few years." I turned on the car and ground the gears. Vincent winced and grasped the dashboard as I put my foot on the peddle and we shot forward.
That's when I realized that maybe I really couldn't drive a car with that much power, at least not without the roads being cleared of cars, pedestrians, fire hydrants, and sidewalks. I screamed as we careened down the busy street. I frantically turned the wheel left and right to avoid the traffic in front of us. Cars honked and people screamed. I heard very obscenity in the book and even ones I never knew existed. We received the one-finger salute more times than an unwelcome politician. We came up to a light that decided it didn't want to be green anymore, so my foot slammed on the brake and the car came to a grinding, screeching halt. The boxes of clothes spilled forward onto the front seat and covered us with the fancy fabric. I glanced over to Vincent and covered my mouth to stifle my snort when I saw that one of the bras had fallen onto his head
Things got better when I heard sirens behind us. Vincent, all this time stuck in his seat with his foot pressed down on the invisible passenger-side brake pedal, pulled the bra off his head, slid over and pulled me onto his lap. His feet kicked mine out of the way of the pedals and his hands pushed mine off the wheel. When he had full control he pressed on the gas and spun the wheel hard to the left. We zoomed out into the opposing traffic that had the green light and I pressed my back against his chest and screamed as we veered around vehicles going in both directions.
Vincent somehow missed every car and we raced off down the street. I glanced over the back of the seat and watched five cop cars with their lights blazing fly through the intersection. Two of those didn't make the turn and crashed into the traffic. The surviving three cars raced after us, and Vincent shifted to a lower speed. We shot forward and he dodged in and out of the flow of traffic, missing most cars by a hairs breadth and my heart missing as many beats as it seriously considered stopping completely.
Vincent took a sharp left off the busier road and down into the less fashionable and more familiar streets. The cops turned with us and were in close pursuit. I looked back and saw the passenger cops radioing in for backup. "Um, Vince, we probably better go faster before their buddies come," I advised him.
His reply was to slam his foot harder on the gas, and I squished back against his chest as all eight cylinders kicked into high gear. In a matter of seconds we sped down several blocks and were quickly losing our tailgaters. Unfortunately, their buddies popped up out of the left and right-hand streets just in back of us, and two even showed up in front. Vincent spun the wheel and we slid down a street on the right. By this time we were deep in depression country where the apartments were as bad as our home and the occasional abandoned warehouse popped up with its ancient brick smokestack watching the chase from the roof.
I frowned when things started getting familiar. "Isn't this where-" I yelped when Vincent made another sharp turn and I tumbled off him and onto the floor. I ended up on my back and glared up at my psychotic driver. "Wouldn't it be easier to just shoot ourselves in the head than die in a fiery car crash?" I yelled at him.
He ignored me and swung the wheel around so we made a complete one-eighty. I would have lost my meal if there was anything in my stomach. We jumped forward back the way we came. There was a horrible screeching of tires and the sound of cars slamming into each other. I scrambled onto the seat and saw a pileup of police cars behind us where those in front had collided with those in pursuit. A few were unscathed, but they wasted time turning around and we turned onto a new block before they resumed their pursuit.
Vincent drove through a maze of warehouses and turned into a narrow alley that ended in a warehouse wall. I expected him to reverse after the cop cars passed, but he pressed the gas and sped straight for the wall. My eyes widened and I pressed on the invisible passenger-side brake pedal. "Wall. Wall! WALL!" I screamed.
I prepared for an impact that never happened. The wall slid up and we careened into a large mechanic shop where Vincent slammed on the brakes. We skidded to a stop a yard from the opposite wall workbench, and I whipped my head back in time to see the wall close behind us. The faint sound of police sirens zoomed by the long alley and in a moment they were gone, chasing after a ghost.
I looked forward and slumped down in my seat. "We are so dead," I mumbled.
"Undead," Vincent corrected me.
I whipped my head up and glared at him. "How can you laugh at a time like this? They're going to trace the car to us and-"
"How?" he wondered.
"The license plate and make of the car," I pointed out.
"The license plate is fake and the car is custom-made. They have never found us before and they won't now," he assured me.
I rolled my eyes and shook my head. "You guys really planned for everything, didn't you?"
"The plans came from hard experience." He stepped out of the car and I followed on my jello legs. The excitement sapped the energy from me and I used the car to prop me up.
"Where are we, anyway?" I asked as I glanced around.
The shop took up half the warehouse with a dividing wall between the other half. The whole mechanical space was two thousand square feet with benches along three and a half walls with the secret entrance taking up the last half. Oiled and rusted parts were strewn about the floor, and the walls were covered with hanging tools of all shapes, sizes, and functions. There were two lifts to raise the cars and all kinds of compressors, nail guns, blowtorches, and the like to assist in creating a Franken-car like the one Vincent owned. There was an upstairs office accessed via a set of metal stairs and with windows that looked down on the shop floor. Along the left wall was a grimy white door that led to the other side of the dividing wall.
"Tim's shop. He created the car here," Vincent told me. He walked toward the door, but his own rubbery legs collapsed beneath him.
"Vince!" I yelled. I rushed over to him and clasped his shoulders. His exhaustion was much longer than the first time I drained him. "You all right?"
He clenched his teeth, but nodded. His eyes darted over the glasses at me. "You took quite a bit more energy than I expected," he complained.
I snorted. "And you're the one who attacked me. Why'd you do that, anyway?"
"To activate your defense mechanism," he replied. He raised his hand and showed t
he ring. "This ring doesn't keep me from attacking you, but when you're threatened it will drain my energy to sustain your life."
"So it tries to keep me alive by killing you?" I guessed.
"It won't destroy me, but leaving me in this weakened position may destroy us both one day," he muttered.
"But why'd you go to that much trouble? I would've been fine without it," I protested.
He scowled and shook his head. "You don't know the consequences of starving yourself. At any moment the thirst would have driven you to take a victim and you wouldn't have stopped draining them until you killed them."
I furrowed my brow and pursed my lips. "So you. . .you didn't want me to go through that?"
He scoffed and turned away. "I didn't want you to endanger both of us with your stupidity."
The tone of his voice told me that wasn't the entire truth, and a teasing grin slid onto my lips. "You like me, don't you?"
His head whipped over to me with an expression that questioned my sanity. "Don't be a fool. I only wish to protect myself," he hissed.
I rolled my eyes. "Uh-huh, I'm sure that's all it was."
Vincent glared at me and pushed me away. He stood, steadied himself, and wandered over to the grimy door. I straightened and sighed. He sure was stubborn, but he could really get us out of a jam and save me from my own stubbornness. I followed him and was behind him when he opened the door and revealed a very familiar mad scientists lair. We drove into one half of Frederick Batholomew's warehouse.
The mad scientist himself stood on the other side of the door with his hands clasped behind his back and a frown on his face. "I didn't give Tim use of my warehouse so you could use it for your personal racetrack," he scolded Vincent.
"We were followed," Vincent blandly replied. He strode past the old man and toward the white room I'd rested in on another occasion.
Bat raised an eyebrow and his eyes flickered to me. "Mind elaborating on what he said?" he requested.
I sheepishly smiled. "We kind of had some trouble with the police following us."
Bat looked past me at the car. "And Vincent couldn't lose them at an earlier point in the chase?" he wondered.
"Actually, I was the one driving for a while," I admitted.
The old man blinked at me for a moment, and then burst into a chuckle. "You? You attempted to drive that monster vehicle?"
I shrugged. "Vince was kind of having trouble standing, so I took the wheel."
The corners of his lips twitched up. "Vince?" he repeated.
"I'm lazy and Vincent is too long a name," I explained to him.
Bat turned to where Vincent had disappeared into the white room. "And what does 'Vince' think of the new name?"
"He hasn't complained."
"Very interesting. He generally dislikes change."
"Maybe he's getting used to it. He's had a lot of it this last week," I pointed out.
"Yes, and speaking of that, how are you two getting along? I was afraid your lack of communication meant you'd destroyed one another, or that perhaps trouble had done the favor for you," Bat asked me.
I shook my head. "No, but they tried. We went to the Third Precinct and grabbed Tim. I had to jump off the roof to get away, but Vince caught me."
"Did he now? How very useful of him. So you managed to retrieve the body, but I presume not without being seen?" he wondered.
I furrowed my brow as I recalled the two strange men; the quiet secretary and the suited guy on the roof. "Yeah, there was this one guy with glasses named Field who wanted us to see some other guy named Lord Ruthven. I think I met that guy on the roof, or at least that's who he said he was." I noticed Bat started at the name. "You know him? Vince said he was-" I paused and frowned. "Actually, Vince didn't tell me anything about him. Who is he?"
"I'm afraid he's a very dangerous-well, a very dangerous individual, and so is his secretary, Mr. Ron Field," Bat explained to me.
"It seemed like he was in charge there. Is he the head guy at the Precinct?" I guessed.
Bat frowned, sighed, and stepped aside as he gestured to the white-room door. "This may take a while. Why don't we go sit down in my quarters?" he suggested.
I raised an eyebrow, but nodded. "Sure."
Chapter 5
I followed Bat into the white room and we saw Vince standing against a wall beside a large refrigerator that sat opposite the door. He'd taken off his glasses and fedora, and held a couple of packets with red liquid inside them. It didn't take a rocket scientist to guess those were chilled blood packets.
Bat chuckled. "Feeling a might peckish?" he teased the vampire.
Vince turned and frowned at us, particularly me. "I have little choice," he quipped.
"Oh? No tasty maidens to munch on?" Bat teased him as he led me over to the couch and chair.
"Actually, this might be my fault," I spoke up. "I kind of drained him again."
"Again?" Bat mused with a smile. "You seem to be making a habit out of it."
"I didn't have a choice, he bit me," I defended myself.
Bat turned sharply to Vince and frowned at him. "Is this true?" Vincent glared at me, but said nothing. "This is the second time in your short relationship. You know the risk of overloading the abilities of the ring," Bat scolded.
My face fell and I stepped between them. "Mind telling me the risks?" I begged.
"At another time, but I would like to hear your story about the Precinct," Bat requested as he gestured to the couch. I made a mental note to ask him later, filed it under the Important folder, and sat down on the couch. Bat took his customary chair and leaned back with a groan. He noticed my worried glance and comforted me with a smile. "These old bones aren't what they used to be, but tell me what happened there," he requested.
I glanced wryly at Vincent. "Well, first we snuck inside by hiding under a truck that he didn't want to wait to stop."
Bat chuckled. "So it was moving?"
"Yeah, and fast. That took us inside the warehouse area and we watched them unload a bunch of old-looking books. Some of them opened and these creepy shadow things came out and dragged a guy inside."
The humor on Bat's face slipped off and his eyebrows crashed down. "What sort of books were these?"
I jerked my head at Vincent. "We grabbed one and Vince has it," I told him.
Bat turned to Vincent and held out his hand. "Show it to me."
Vincent grudgingly reached into his long jacket and pulled out the book. He handed it to Bat, who carefully looked over the cover. The look on his face darkened, and he glanced up at me. "And you said there was more than one of these books?"
I nodded. "Lots of boxes of them. They were shipping them out by the river." Bat frowned and carefully opened the cover. "Don't!" I warned him, but it was too late. Or rather, it was an empty warning. Nothing happened. No shadow tentacles or terrible hands. I saw only pages filled with a strange language and grotesque pictures. "How-how'd you do that?" I asked him.
Bat snapped the book shut. "A matter of practice, but those who are unskilled would certainly be consumed by the dark magic in these pages."
I grimaced as I remembered those poor fools. "They were consumed by something," I muttered.
Bat looked to Vincent and shook the book in his direction. "Did you learn where these books were headed?"
Vincent scowled. "We had other priorities than tracking a shipment of parchment," he reminded Bat.
Bat scoffed. "Yes, getting yourselves into trouble with Ruthven, or so this young lady tells me," he quipped.
Vincent turned that dark look on me and I shrugged. "What? What's the big deal about this guy?"
"I'm afraid he's a very big deal," Bat spoke up. "You were right to guess he is in charge of the Precinct, though not just that one but all of them."
I blinked. "So that means what?"
"It means, my dear Miss Stokes, that you made the acquaintance of a very evil individual," Bat told me. He looked down at the book and ran his hand over the cover.
"This book and all its siblings are no doubt in the wrong hands, and all thanks to Lord William Ruthven."
"Wait, back up. This Ruthven guy is what? The mastermind behind a bunch of evil books or behind a lot of stuff?" I asked them.
"Quite a few things, and for quite a few centuries," Bat replied.
My face scrunched up. "Centuries? Like how long Tim lived?"
"More than even those, but not by many," Bat corrected me.
"But how's he doing that without a ring? Isn't that what kept Tim alive for so long?" I wondered.
"There are other ways to obtain immortality, as Vincent is proof of that," Bat reminded me.
I gave a dismissive glance at said vampire. "They say the good die young," I mumbled.
Vincent glared and squeezed the blood bag in his hand so the liquid spilled out onto his hand. Bat scowled at the mess that dripped onto the floor. "Would you mind showing your anger in a more clean manner?" he requested. Vincent's reply was to toss aside the bag into a nearby garbage can and stomp from the room. Bat sighed and shook his head. "He certainly has been affected by Tim's death," he murmured.
I raised an eyebrow. "You mean he doesn't always act like a spoiled kid?"
Bat chuckled, but there wasn't any mirth in it. "He has his peculiarities, but he's harmless enough to those he trusts."
"Or needs to keep alive to keep himself alive, and even then he keeps gnawing on me like I'm some chew toy," I quipped.
"You said you drained him because he bit you. Why did he bite you?" Bat wondered.
I shrugged and glanced at the interesting plain floor. "I wouldn't bite a woman in the neck."
"Did you feel any hunger?"
"Just a little. Not enough to want to take a bite out of anyone. Besides, he hypnotized her and that's as bad as kidnapping someone, so of course I wasn't going to take her blood," I defended myself.
"I can't admire his tact in gathering food for you both, but I must insist you drink when he commands you," Bat told me.
My mouth dropped open. "You're taking his side?" I exclaimed.