by Declan Finn
Amanda patted his head. “Do not do that, I like your head the way it is.”
“And you didn’t know,” Robert added. “Things were a little busy.”
Marco scoffed. “That’s one way to put it.”
Robert nodded. “But we can talk about all of that tomorrow. In case you want to settle in.”
Marco looked at his watch. It was only six o’clock. “I have a few hours before I go down. Right now, I want to head out into the city, walk around, see if I can feel like a normal person.”
Robert gave an aborted chuckle. Amanda coquettishly cleared her throat.
Marco blinked, frowned, and looked from his father to his love and back. “What?”
Amanda leaned in close to his ear, and slightly emphasizing her Russian accent, said “A normal purr-son?”
A shiver went down Marco’s spine, and he suppressed the sudden urge to kiss her in front of his father. “Normal for me, in civilization.” He looked to his father. “San Francisco. Ugh. I can’t imagine how any sane person can live there.”
Robert leaned forward over his desk, hands together, and said, “Marco, I have raised you to be a chauvinist about New York.”
“No. I’ve just seen San Francisco. There’s a difference.”
Robert rolled his eyes. “Indeed.” He looked at the two of them. They cuddled on the couch, touching at the hip, knee, and shoulder. Marco’s hand was on Amanda’s, the tips of his fingers sliding between her fingers. “If you two are going to head out, should I be expecting you back tonight?”
Both of them stopped, looked at Robert, and cocked their heads in opposite directions. They narrowed their eyes, and said, at the same time, “Why wouldn’t you?”
Robert smiled. “Never mind.”
Chapter 9
Drink and the Devil
Jennifer Bosley stepped out of her SUV, and onto the walkway in front of the Bensonhurst mansion. She smoothed her suit as she took inventory of the armed guards. There had been six on the front gate, and another ten in the front of the main house.
She thought they might be a good start in the event of a minion attack. In case of vampires, they were probably screwed. Unless they were all far more religious than she thought they were.
Before she got to the front door, it opened to reveal the Mafia wiseguy known only as “Enrico.” He was tall but quite elegant. He had first been introduced to the world of vampires at a hospital desk, holding Doctor Catalano hostage in his own hospital. Once he was entirely on board, he had become most useful—not quite invaluable, but enough for government work. The man was less DeNiro and Pacino, more Michael Rennie of the original Day the Earth Stood Still. He had a medium build, with thick cheekbones, and an easy, conman smile… when he wasn’t threatening to kill someone.
“Jen, I’m so glad you could make it,” he called in his smooth baritone. “How do you like the modifications?”
Bosley grinned. “They’re okay. But only sixteen people?”
Now he really smiled. “Good. You only saw the ones I wanted you to see.”
Bosley’s eyebrows shot up. She had been part of British intelligence in World War II; that, on top of her vampire senses, usually meant she could find any and all human security, and most tech-based security. She thought that hiding people from her was impossible. “Really? Very impressive.”
He shrugged. “I hired people from the deeper end of the gene pool. Mostly former soldiers. The ones you see are bait. You could even say they’re dispensable.”
She nodded. It was time for her to sharpen her skills again. “Understood.”
Enrico held the door for her as she entered, and closed it behind her. He said nothing, but walked ahead of her, moving through the living room. The massive hole she had made in the floor last month had been repaired—one of the benefits of being in the construction business.
They ended up in a stylish room decorated in the 1970’s, Marlon-Brando-as-Godfather fashion: dark gray carpet, dark wood paneling, comfortable furniture, with a wall of bookcases.
Bosley looked around and nodded in approval. “I’ve definitely seen worse.”
Enrico laughed. “You’d be surprised.”
He closed the door and moved behind the desk. The gangster reached out and slid up the blinds. The windows weren’t filled with glass, but metal. “I brought in someone who designs SCIFs. And had him make it a safe room on top of that.” He gave a wry smile. “I didn’t want to be dropped in on like the last time.”
Bosley blinked. She closed her eyes and tried listening for the guards she’d seen outside in the hallway. She couldn’t even hear them. The room was actually soundproof. Even for a vampire.
She opened her eyes and nodded. “Most impressive.”
“I thought you’d appreciate it.” He waved her towards the couch behind the coffee table off to the side. She took the couch, and he took the chair next to it. “Tea?”
She nodded. After all, she was still English. “Yes, thank you.”
He grabbed the teapot and poured. “How have your preparations been?”
“Quite well, thank you.” She took the cup and added a lump of sugar. She stirred and sipped. “I’ve brought everybody on board that I believe I could trust, and quietly growing the ranks as we move along. Our numbers are already beyond my projections.”
Enrico nodded as he poured his own cup—espresso in a large coffee mug that read I’m having coffee: talk to me at your own risk. “And what about your friend the Commissioner?” he asked before he took a sip.
“Ray is doing well.” Jennifer smiled slightly. “Jealous that I have friends in high and low places?”
“Not at all. Why would you ask?”
Bosley gave him a knowing look. “Ray and I go way back, to when he first ran into people like me. He’s been very thoughtful and smart about everything to do with the association. He’s also been married for forty years.”
Enrico chuckled. “The idea that it would stop a vampire would be more amusing if I didn’t know you already.”
Bosley rolled her eyes. “I haven’t read a novel about vampires since Bram Stoker.” She paused before she took another sip. “Okay, I have read Jim Butcher and Larry Correia, but vampires are only a part of what they work with. So please don’t talk to me about Ann Rice or that Hamilton woman. Ask me less about that Meyer creature.” She scoffed. “Sparkles, indeed. As though we’re animated ponies.” She put down her tea. “Have you had any more problems with incursions?”
He shook his head. “Not by vampires. Though there are a few police officers who give us funny looks every time they drive by. I don’t know if they’re in on the vampire secret, or if they want to keep an eye on me.”
She shrugged. “It amounts to the same level of protection, doesn’t it?”
“Not if cops try to stop vampires attacking the front gate and get eaten.”
Jennifer nodded once. “That would be a problem. Though my conversation with Ray has given me the impression that we have about ten percent of the department in on the secret.”
Enrico’s eyes widened briefly at that. “Really? That’s about four thousand cops.”
She nodded. “Give or take. I hadn’t known that many people could keep a secret, but apparently, a lot of them have had run-ins with the wrong side of my people.” She took her tea and thought a moment before sipping. She looked deeply into the cup. “Then again, one percent of seven million people is still seventy thousand.”
The wiseguy tried not to choke on his coffee. “That many?”
Bosley smiled. “Don’t you mean that few? That’s just a guess, mind you. It could be as high as three percent.” She shrugged. “For perspective, keep in mind, homosexuals are approximately that much of the planetary population, and they have their own lobby. Just be grateful that we haven’t come out of the casket and decided to purchase some politicians—we have more savings than anyone can imagine.”
“Understood. Though how many of them are on our side?”
Enrico nodded and thought it over. She had a point. In the beginning, the Sicilian mafia used to be the law in places where the law wouldn’t or couldn’t dare go. But, like other extra-legal organizations, the mafia became a criminal organization. Protection became less about protection from the criminal or the corrupt and became about protection from the mafia. As cities grew, the mafia could only apply pressure to a limited range. Over-extension was easy if they weren’t careful. The mafia itself was limited to geographic areas. What Bosley was dealing with was something similar, only vampires could be anywhere, go anywhere, and it wasn’t as though they were wired with GPS upon being turned.
Then he frowned. “But can’t vampires sense other vampires?”
“To some extent. The more powerful the vampire, the more they can sense people and things in general. The only limit is with vampires on the demonic side—they can’t detect anything protected in or by the divine.”
Enrico nodded, then emptied his espresso. “I got the impression that the assassin who went after Marco and Amanda could sense them fairly easily.”
“Correct. They escaped her with a combination of prayer and dirty laundry.”
“And how many more minions do you think there could be?”
Bosley winced. “I can’t imagine. Tracking minions is even harder than tracking non-member vampires. From what we could tell, the assassin sucked the life out of all of her minions to survive being staked with a crucifix and being blown up.”
Enrico smiled. “Well, that’ll do it.” He finished his cup. “Do you have time for more tea?”
“I have an appointment at nine or so, but we have time.”
Chapter 10
Sergeants in the Army of Light
January 4th
Marco looked up at one of the lions in front of the New York City Public Library, perhaps best known as being in the opening shot of the classic film Ghostbusters. He pressed his hand against the massive stone base, as though testing the truth of its existence.
“Good God, it’s so nice to be back home.” He hammered the pedestal with his fist lightly. “A city where the construction is sturdy, and—mostly—not pretentious.” He smirked and looked at Amanda. “You know these things are supposed to roar when a virgin walks by?”
His friend smiled. “Da, and they’ve never roared.”
He shrugged. “Just means they don’t work. I’ve walked by multiple times.”
Amanda’s face lit up with a grin. “How sweet.”
“Sweet?” He chuckled. “That’s new.”
She punched his left shoulder, and he flinched, smarting. “Stop it.”
Marco rolled his shoulder. “Ow?”
Amanda furrowed her brows, confused. “Is that a statement or a question?”
“Yes.” Marco slid his jacket off at the shoulder and rolled up his shirt sleeve. There was a bruise already forming on his arm, in the perfect impression of her knuckles.
Amanda gasped in shock. “Marco, I—”
He held up his other hand, staring at the mark. It was almost as though she had forgotten her own strength, or had gotten stronger since they’d last talked.
On the one hand, pain meds might be nice. On the other hand, they didn’t work that well last time.
Perhaps it’s time to have that talk.
“I’ll live. I’m tougher than I look, after all.” He frowned at the red mark, then slid his jacket back on. “Could be worse. I could be attacked by a dozen feminists who think I’m a proto-fascist because I carry a rosary. Heh. I can see our next battle against the forces of darkness…the National Organization of Women.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What have you against feminists?”
“Nothing, sort of am one—the traditional ones you remember. The equal pay for equal work crowd.”
Amanda raised an eyebrow and smiled slightly. “You realize that many of them would get into fist-fights with anyone who would disagree with them? A few even considered blowing things up?”
“Sigh. Yeah. But nowadays, the ones who used to throw bombs have become the ‘abortion on demand’ lobby.” He grimaced, remembering her lecture on the rise of demonic activity over the course of the last few centuries. She’d explained everything from the French Revolution using blood from decapitations with bread in a mockery of the Eucharist, to the Russian Revolution becoming a religion, and finally about the current practice of human sacrifice endorsed by every leftist with an agenda and a lawyer.
She sighed. She had heard this lecture before—she had given this lecture—and she wasn’t in the mood for that.
And they hadn’t had a practice session for a while.
“En garde!”
Marco back pivoted as she shot forward with a right cross. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her toward him, shooting out his foot to trip her. She leaped over it and landed on her feet, and then flipped him over her hip. He fell flat on his back and rolled off his shoulders, going heels over head onto his feet.
He smiled. “Where did you get the leg hopping trick?”
“It just came naturally, I guess.”
“Not bad. I like it. Again?”
She came at him. He blocked her punch, and she grabbed him and flipped him over her shoulder. He landed on his feet and spun, chopping down on her from above. She twisted and blocked it, as well as his chop at her hip. He stepped forward with a left jab for her face. She grabbed him and pulled him towards her.
Neither one of them was quite sure what happened next, least of all who had kissed whom first. No one knew whose idea it was, but they knew it was mutual.
After five minutes, they broke apart. They looked at each other, Marco a little bit dazed. “Well, that was fun.”
Amanda’s eyes glittered. “Da, it was.”
Marco smiled, deliriously happy now. “We should have done this sooner.”
“Oh? How much sooner?”
Marco’s face sported that strange little smile that always reminded Amanda of the one memorable line from Scaramouche: “He was born with the gift of laughter and a sense that the world was mad.”
He gazed deep into her eyes. “Day one would have been good.”
She frowned playfully and took a swing at him. Luckily he anticipated the swing because when her fist touched the stone pedestal of the library lions, the stone cracked.
Marco raised an eyebrow. “Did you mean to do that?”
Amanda blinked. “Nyet… I can’t imagine how I do that, period. I was not trying.”
Marco quickly scanned the area to see if anyone else had noticed that she cracked the stone with her bare hands. Thankfully, no pedestrian gave a damn. He jerked his head towards the upper level of the stairs, and they stopped at the first landing of the library, which was more like a patio that extended the length of the block. He went off to one side, where the patio went off behind some trees on the property. She caught up to him, and he leaned up against a park table, bolted into the concrete.
“Amanda, how much have you been up to lately?”
“Nothing, I swear.”
“You’ve been doing your church attendance?”
She nodded slowly. “Da.”
“Praying a lot?”
She nodded absently. Considering the last few weeks away from Marco, all the time she typically spent with him had turned her thoughts inwards and upwards, toward Heaven. Msgr. Rodgers had “joked” that if she became any more spiritual, she would become a mystic. Rodgers had jokingly asked her if she could hold off getting stig
mata or other phenomena until the parish’s annual charity appeal.
Amanda hadn’t even considered taking the priest seriously until now.
“You’ve become a better person,” Marco said, smiling, moving closer to her. “I’m just sorry that I couldn’t take the credit.”
She smiled softly, thinking back since she had first met Marco.
“Are we so sure about that?” she whispered.
Marco cocked his head and arched his brows. “Huh. That’s… an interesting idea.” He cupped her chin in his fingers and met her eyes. “Show me what you mean.”
They stared deep into each other’s eyes, and she brought him into her mind.
When a vampire had kidnapped Marco’s ex-”friend who was a girl,” Amanda had considered how Marco would feel, since the vampire got away. Suddenly she had become faster, nearly catching up with the bastard, until she was almost hit by a train.
When they had first made out in the cemetery, she had confessed her love for him, pretending that it was part of the act—it was one of the first times her eyes had glowed without bloodlust. They burned again during their first, genuine make out last month.
When Amanda fought the demon Asmodeus, or “Mister Day” as he called himself, she thought of Marco during the fight, and became faster.
After the bombing of the hospital, knowing that Day was after Marco, she ran all the way. Amanda became a blur, passing all traffic, and kept up that speed until she arrived at Marco’s side.
When they had their second genuine makeout session, where Marco wanted to show how little he cared about her eating requirements, she’d read his mind without meeting his eyes—a trick she had never pulled before.