Spike crouched under the rock, watching the shadows lengthen, waiting until the last ray of lethal light was gone.
The girl took a rope from her apron pocket as she quietly approached the goat. The animal jumped and tried to run when she threw her arms around its neck, but she held on and slipped the noose over its head. Once captured, the goat stopped struggling and docilely followed as the girl started back down the slope.
Safe in the twilight gloom, Spike sprang. He grabbed the girl from behind and clamped a hand over her mouth before she could scream. She dropped the rope to claw his arm, and the goat bolted. Crazed by a starved bloodlust, Spike didn’t feel the pain. The scent of terrified human erased everything else from his sphere of awareness. He yanked her golden braid, pulling her head over and exposing her neck, and roared as he bared his fangs.
Nothing could pierce Spike’s frenzied need for blood. He was shocked to his senses when strong hands pulled him off the girl and threw him on the ground.
Spike scrambled to his feet, his knees wobbly from hunger. His eyes widened with indignant outrage when the girl started to run and a demon with bulging eyes and mottled frog skin pulled her back.
“Hey!” Spike yelled. “I saw her first.”
A dwarf with curly dark hair handed the frog demon a wad of cloth to stuff in the screaming girl’s mouth. As soon as the sound was muffled, the little guy shifted into vamp mode. The girl stared at his grotesque, misshapen visage for a full second before she passed out.
“We have orders to kill poachers,” a large man said in heavily accented English. He planted himself in front of Spike, massive legs splayed, arms crossed, black eyes narrowed with belligerence.
“Taking a girl is called poaching around here?” Spike asked calmly. The slightest hint of fear might trigger an attack. Exhausted and weakened by hunger, he was outmatched.
The burly man was huge, with hard muscles and long hair twined with animal teeth, leather thongs, and wooden beads. He wore an animal-skin vest over a homespun shirt and carried a sword scabbard on his back. His ruddy complexion was too well preserved for him to be a two-thousand-year-old barbarian, but he looked exactly how Spike envisioned Attila the Hun.
The man nodded. “The young, pretty ones belong to Machida.”
“But the demon master allows us to torment them before the ritual feast,” the little man said. His British accent was refined, and he giggled insanely. Spike wondered if he had taught the large man to speak English, but didn’t bother asking. It was a relief to find people who spoke his language.
“Trevor has his revenge whenever he can,” the big man explained.
“Treated you like less than a man before the change, did they? I’ve done a bit of vengeance killing for that myself.” Spike returned to human face and held his hand out to Trevor. “They call me Spike.”
“Most pleased to make your acquaintance.” Trevor shook his hand and bowed.
“Otto.” The big man thumped his chest, then thumbed toward the frog demon holding the girl. “That’s Pond.”
Although he didn’t let down his guard, Spike’s alarm ebbed with the introductions. The trio had apparently been enlisted by the demon Machida to hunt and capture girls. However, since none of the three looked undernourished or unkempt, they obviously ate regularly and had a place to live that had running water. They were also roaming around free and fearless.
“So have the Nazis been through here yet?” Spike asked. “They’ve been cleaning out nests up north.”
“We heard,” Otto said, shrugging. “They won’t bother us.”
Spike couldn’t tell if Otto’s reply was based on experience, conviction, or assumption. Right now, the fact that the SS wasn’t combing the valley looking for demons was all he needed to know.
“So—is Machida hiring?” Spike asked, smiling.
As it turned out, Otto made the decisions regarding Machida’s demon personnel and agreed to consider taking Spike on. Until he made up his mind, the newcomer would be welcome at Black Thorn Castle. The big man slung the girl over his shoulder and led the way down the rocky path.
Spike followed behind Otto with Trevor waddling at his heels. Pond brought up the rear. His long elastic tongue cracked each time he snapped a bug, small bird, or rodent into his mouth.
“How long have you been working for Machida?” Spike asked.
“Fifteen years,” Trevor said, “but Otto’s been in his service since the bloody snake moved into the castle four hundred and thirty-six years ago. It’s just too delicious.” He laughed hysterically and rubbed his chubby hands together.
“I was the groundskeeper for Helmet von Hardt when he struck the bargain with Machida,” Otto said. “The family gives the demon reptile safe haven in the dungeon—and three girls a year—in exchange for perpetual prosperity.”
“When did you become a vampire?” Spike knew that strange symbiotic relationships existed in the demon world, but usually vampires only served other vampires.
“Machida admired my strength,” Otto explained, “and had his favorite vampire wench change me that same night. I have never regretted it.”
“Nor I,” Spike admitted. “Until the past several months, it’s been mostly fun and mayhem. But take my word for it, it’s not easy being on the run from a whole bloody army.”
“Or a mob,” Trevor said. He stopped suddenly and began shrieking gibberish and yanking out tufts of his hair. After a moment, though, he continued on as though nothing odd had happened.
“I rescued the little bugger from a chalet on a hunting trip across the border,” Otto said. “He amuses Machida, and he taught me the Queen’s English. Earned his way.”
“And Pond?” Spike glanced back. The mottled amphibian blended into the dark completely, but the odor of damp compost left no doubt he was still there.
“He earns his keep as well.” Otto shifted the girl onto his other shoulder. “Black Thorn Castle is no longer swarming with pests.”
But it’s cold, damp, and drafty, Spike thought when they entered the fortress through a back portal.
Hung with heavy tapestries and renovated to incorporate modern conveniences, the structure was built of stone and mortar. The human family occupied most of the halls and chambers. As they walked, Otto told Spike that the villagers held Klaus von Hardt and his family in high esteem despite the disappearance of three teenage girls every year. Machida’s influence extended beyond the castle to the hamlet, which had been built on von Hardt land and was thus entitled to a portion of the family’s bounty. If anyone suspected a connection between the lost girls and the good fortune, they never whispered a word.
Machida’s minions stayed on a level between the dungeon and the great hall. Although they lived apart from the humans, great care was given to the resident demons’ basic needs and wants. The rooms were furnished for each individual’s comfort, and everyone’s required or preferred foods were available in abundance.
Except for human vampire fodder.
After Spike bathed and slept, Otto took him hunting in Switzerland. The Bavarian valley near the estate was Machida’s private reserve and off-limits to the hired help. Although Spike resented the downgrade to servant status, it was far better than being dissected by Hitler’s doctors or whatever horror the Nazis had planned for captive vampires.
After they crossed the border into neutral territory, Spike considered leaving Otto to continue his journey to Dru in America. Then Otto mentioned that Klaus von Hardt gave Machida’s servants a share of his wealth after every annual feast. Otto had a hidden stash of diamonds, and Trevor had lucrative investments. It made sense to wait and gamble on von Hardt’s generosity. Paying for passage on a luxury liner was preferable to stowing away on a merchant ship.
* * *
Machida and Klaus von Hardt agreed to let Spike stay on a trial basis. He would replace Pond on the hunting squad, leaving the amphibian free to exterminate insects and vermin from the castle premises full-time. A lower-level slug demon ke
pt the walls and floor of the dungeon and Machida’s den clean. There was also Peak, a shape-shifting panther with an exotic human form mortal men could not resist. She went with Otto, Trevor, and Spike to collect the third victim for Machida’s imminent meal.
Spike slumped in the passenger seat of von Hardt’s Mercedes-Benz as Otto steered down the winding mountain road toward the village. Trevor sat in the back seat with Peak, who was in human form for the outing.
“Is there something special about this new bird we’re after?” Spike asked. The three vampires had ambushed the second girl on her way home from choir practice with no trouble a few nights before. “Why do we need the shape-shifter?” He twisted to look back. “No offense, Peak. Just curious.”
Peak smiled, and Spike could not stop staring. The panther-woman’s large almond-shaped eyes held him with the power of a siren’s song.
Otto cuffed the side of Spike’s head to break the daze.
“Helga’s father thinks he can outsmart fate,” Otto explained, as Spike turned to face forward. “Karl knows that one more girl will go missing this year. So he goes everywhere with his daughter. He never leaves her alone.”
Spike nodded. “Hoping Helga won’t get snatched if he’s around.”
“Every few years someone tries it.” Otto sighed. “That’s why we need Peak. You’ll see.”
Spike didn’t have to see to imagine. A man could be overwhelmed by Peak’s provocative charms. Being a vampire, he was less susceptible than a human would be. Besides, he loved Drusilla too much to ever be unfaithful.
Otto took the dirt road that skirted the village and stopped the car where a lane intersected the main route through town. The narrow road meandered through the valley countryside and down the mountain to a distant highway.
“They should be here soon, Peak,” Otto said, as she opened the back door and stepped out.
“Don’t worry, Otto.” Peak closed the door and leaned against the rear fender. Dressed in a demure skirt, heavy shoes, and a business jacket, and with her black hair combed into a neat twist, she looked like a stranded lady in distress.
Spike, Otto, and Trevor slipped out of the car and into the darkness as Karl Lutze’s truck rattled down the road. The farmer and his daughter had spent the afternoon selling vegetables in the village market square and were headed back to the farm.
When Peak stepped into the glare of the headlights and waved for the truck to stop, Karl hit the brakes.
The farmer spoke in German as he got out and strolled toward her.
“Excellent,” Trevor whispered in Spike’s ear. “He asked if she needs help.”
Peak replied in German, and stared into the man’s eyes, mesmerizing him before she finished speaking. He didn’t notice that the tire in the Mercedes wasn’t flat.
“Did she just call him ‘pumpkin’?” Otto whispered, but started moving toward the truck before Trevor answered.
“Sometimes she calls them pumpernickel,” Trevor told Spike. “Or petunia. They don’t hear what she says. They are prisoners of the pheromones, deaf and blind to everything except Peak.”
As they neared the truck, Spike pulled a cloth and a bottle from his pocket. He hesitated, feeling disturbed, but he couldn’t say why. He had been uneasy since the last kidnapping foray, but there was no time to ponder it. He twisted the cap off the bottle.
Helga called to her as Peak enticed the farmer into the backseat of the Mercedes.
Otto ripped open the passenger door and pulled the startled girl out. Her fearful cry died in her throat when Spike covered her nose and mouth with the chloroform cloth. She collapsed in Otto’s arms.
Spike studied the quarry in the dim glow of the truck’s headlights. The girl was beautiful, like a china doll with pale, translucent skin, ringlets of dark brown hair, and red lips. Machida would be pleased.
When the car door opened and the farmer’s body tumbled out, Spike couldn’t hide his surprise. “What happened?”
“The cat kills her mates with the poisonous venom in her teeth and claws.” Trevor chuckled. “They die instantly.”
“That puts a damper on the tumble, doesn’t it?” Spike shuddered.
“There must be no witnesses,” Otto said as he lifted Helga.
Spike followed Otto to the car, but he left a measure of respect for Machida and his minions in the dirt. He had realized what troubled him the moment he put the cloth on the girl’s face. There was nothing challenging or sporting about Otto and Trevor’s methods. They were common criminals locked into an uninspired routine for a lazy reptilian monster that bribed others to hunt for him.
Disgusted—with himself and his companions—Spike forced a friendly attitude during the drive back up the mountain. Although Otto was a glorified flunky, the barbarian had treated Spike fairly and well. Spike wouldn’t do anything to damage Otto’s standing with his demon master. Whether Machida rewarded his efforts or not, Spike would leave Black Thorn Castle and Germany immediately after the demon’s ritual feast.
* * *
The normally quiet and orderly castle routine was thrown into chaos on Machida’s banquet day. Spike stayed in his room, plotting the safest course out of Europe through Switzerland, but it was impossible to ignore the unusual interaction of humans and demons outside his door. Slug moved up and down the stairways between the kitchen and the dungeon, digesting grit and moss that soiled the stone. Pond prowled every level, consuming uninvited pests.
The cook and maids had been sent away for the duration of the two days of preparation, ritual ceremony, and celebration. Klaus’s wife, Ingrid, had recruited Otto and Trevor to work in the kitchen.
The von Hardt daughters, Ilse and Frieda, rushed about fussing over candles, robes, and other ritual accoutrements. Klaus’s son, Dirk, and Frieda’s husband, Lars Warner, guarded the three kidnapped girls, who were chained to the dungeon wall one level down.
Trevor had a knack for knowing everything that happened within the castle walls and had reported that Klaus was expanding his influence and power by offering the benefits of serving Machida to selected outsiders. The first nonfamily member, a person of importance Ingrid greatly wanted to impress, would be inducted before the demon’s ritual feast tonight.
When Peak scratched at his door, Spike assumed she wanted a place to hide from the frantic activities. Cats, in his experience, despised disruptions and could not be forced in any endeavor to cooperate against their will. When he opened the door, the black panther leaped inside. Peak sat on her haunches, twitching her tail in agitation until he closed the door. Then she morphed into human form and covered herself with the blanket on Spike’s bed.
“I don’t mind if you stay here, Peak,” Spike said, “but I’d rather be alone with the cat.”
“You’ll be leaving soon, vampire.” Peak purred.
“I’m not going anywhere until after Machida stuffs himself with terrified teenagers,” Spike said. He had told Otto his plans, thanking him for the honor of serving Machida and apologizing for an incurable wanderlust that compelled him to move on. He hoped Otto would put in a good word for him with Klaus regarding payment for kidnappings well done.
“Otto said you know of Hitler’s demon hunters.” A growl sounded deep in Peak’s throat.
“I had a run-in with them a few months back.” Spike frowned. “Why?”
“Klaus has a visitor,” Peak hissed. “He wears silver and black and the death’s head on his hat. Is he here for you?”
“The SS thinks I burned in the sun.” Spike sat at his table, mulling the possible reasons von Hardt was entertaining an officer of the SS. “There’s just the one man?”
“And a driver,” Peak said. “He’s outside with the car.”
“Then chances are this man is here to pledge his life and all to Machida,” Spike said. “I doubt there’s anything to fear. He won’t want anyone outside the castle to know he was here. Der Führer would execute an officer that swore allegiance to someone—or something—else.”
“Otto said that Machida would protect us.” Peak curled up on the bed. “But I do not want to encounter this man in the halls. If he liked me, I would have to kill him.”
“Probably not a good plan.” Spike sighed with relief when Peak morphed back into a panther and promptly fell asleep. He turned his attention back to the map. There wasn’t a good escape route. To reach a port, he had to go through Mussolini’s Italy or German-occupied France.
* * *
Without complaint, Spike donned the brown hooded monk’s robes Otto had given him. Although it seemed unlikely Herr von Hardt’s guest would remember him as the fried fugitive from Hamburg, Spike welcomed the anonymity the cowl provided. Even so, the von Hardt family’s lack of imagination rankled him. Every demon-worshiping human cult Spike had encountered employed some form of chanting, candles, and monks’ robes.
Since Peak had Machida’s promise of protection and couldn’t control the effects of her pheromones, Klaus had excused her from the ceremony.
Everyone else gathered in the dungeon torture chamber at midnight. Ingrid, Ilse, and Frieda stood with Lars and Dirk on one side of the chamber, with Spike, Otto, Trevor, and Pond—all robed with heads bowed, to avoid the stranger’s curious stare—on the opposite side. Machida’s female sacrifices occupied the space between them, manacled by chains bolted into the ceiling. Candles flickered in wall sconces, and metal devices designed to inflict pain reflected the light. A tunnel had been bored through the crumbling mortar wall into the side of the mountain. It led to Machida’s lair.
Klaus von Hardt and the SS initiate stood in the center of the room. Klaus held a sword in one hand and pushed his hood off his head with the other. Naked to the waist with a hood over his head, the new man stood with his hands clasped behind his back. He didn’t flinch when Klaus removed the hood and pressed the tip of the sword into his flesh.
Spike raised his eyes without lifting his head as Klaus began to chant the induction oath.
The German words faded into background noise as Spike focused on the SS officer’s face. He had only seen it once before, from afar on a dark night, but the voice that repeated Machida’s oath was too distinctive to forget. Machida’s new disciple was Colonel Jürgen Koch, Hitler’s demon hunter.
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