by Declan Finn
Tolbert nodded. “So, the farther along one of them is in power, the harder they are to kill. I figured that much.”
“White Soul Fire,” Rodgers continued, “are for those who are so good and almost saintly, and their souls are almost perfectly aligned with their bodies. They cannot do more than that since perfection is God’s alone. White Soul Fire requires not only talent but incredible strength of will. It can heal, and it can destroy evil, at will. Sometimes both at once.
“Black Soul Fire,” he added, “is evil. It burns with cold, and it kills any who get in the way. This is fire that consumes everything. It either sets it on fire or disintegrates it to ashes. It is as supernatural a tool as their ability to shapeshift. It can set pieces of reality on fire. I wouldn’t dismiss it if I were you.”
Tolbert cleared his throat nervously. “Understood. You think this new guy might have it?”
“Misha? A vampire who wields it would have to be almost literally demonic. Evil would have to be an art form to him. If Misha uses it, and he will burn through us if we can’t contain him. If he is, in fact, the brother of Mikhail the bear—the leader of the vampires we dispatched last Spring—then it would explain Tunguska.”
“Tongue-who-ska?”
The priest sighed, and dragged on his cigar. “Mikhail was sighted at Tunguska, a place in Siberia. The so-called Tunguska event is usually written off as the air burst of a meteoroid.”
Tolbert shrugged. “So? How bad can that be?”
“It was as powerful as a nuclear explosion.”
“Oh.”
Rodgers nodded. “Mikhail had been there before the event, but he wasn’t powerful enough to cause or survive such a disaster.”
“You figure that means that his brother Misha was behind it? Or helped him survive it?”
Rodgers nodded. “If that’s the level of power involved here, then this isn’t about Marco, or even New York. This threatens the world.”
Chapter 17
Time Suck
Marco Catalano woke up energized and alert. This was even though his room was still dark. His new duct tape and curtain fix was holding up well.
But the best part was Amanda in his bed, one arm draped over him, his face next to hers. His nostrils were filled with the scent of her hair (strawberry), and her skin (vanilla). Her body was warm, her entire right side pressed up against his. His arm was around her waist, and he was sorely tempted to move his hand up, or down—the only reason he didn’t shift it away from temptation was that he didn’t want to wake her.
Then he furrowed his brow, confused for a long moment. His bed was a twin. It wasn’t made for two people.
Marco lay there, closed his eyes, and concentrated on Amanda’s presence, absorbing her just being there. At that moment, he suddenly realized he had everything he had ever wanted, right there in his arms.
Marco smiled, and hugged her closer, lightly brushing his lips against her cheek. If this were a romance novel, we’d be done already. We can call it a day.
Freaking vampires. They should have read the script.
“Can I help you?” Amanda asked lightly.
“Yes,” he whispered. “Marry me.”
Amanda’s musical laugh preceded her pushing up from the bed. Her hair came down in a golden-red curtain around them.
Good God, he thought. She looks beautiful in the morning.
“No,” she answered him, kissing him lightly on the lips. “We have barely begun the relationship. You want to get married already?”
Marco took her by the shoulder and sat up, kissing her, hard and deeply. After he pulled back so he could catch his breath, he looked her dead in the eyes. “Yes. Is there anything about me you don’t like?” He paused, frowned, thought it over, and added, “Aside from everything about me that I’m not particularly happy about, that is?”
Amanda laughed lightly. “I love you. I even like some parts of you that you don’t like.”
He spread his hands in a shrug. “Then what’s the problem? Given the usual length of wedding preparations, it’ll take at least a year. Worst thing that happens is that, if we’re still alive, we won’t stand each other, and we call it off.” He leaned forward, and kissed her again, this time on the cheek. “In any case, think it over some more.”
Amanda blinked as he bounded off the bed, wondering when she had last seen him this energized. “You seem happy this morning.”
Marco stripped off his shirt and reached into his closet for the next available one. He pulled out a dark blue t-shirt with the logo of the Fighting 59th Army Unit.
The door to Marco’s room swung open, even though the door had been locked a moment ago. Merle Kraft stood in the doorway, wearing his midnight blue windbreaker, despite the blistering January cold. Behind him waited George Berkeley, dressed in straight up black tactical gear.
Marco arched his brows. “You could have just knocked, you—”
“Sit!” George barked.
Marco turned for the bed, taking two steps before he stopped. His eyes narrowed, and he looked over his shoulder at the lycanthrope and Merle. “Oh, I see. Cute. Sorry, doesn’t quite work. We found a workaround.”
George arched his bushy black brows, looked at Merle, and shrugged. He flipped Marco a thumbs up, turned and walked away.
Marco chuckled. “One day, I’m going to figure out just how George manages to get through life by saying so little.”
Merle cocked an eyebrow. “I can’t imagine why you’d find that hard to process,” he said dryly. He stepped into the room and hooked the door with his heel, kicking the door closed. “I’m happy you both managed to at least wait until you got to New York before finding yourself in deeper trouble than when I left you.”
“Missed you, too, Merle,” Marco drawled.
Amanda rolled her eyes at the interplay between them. “I am so happy you could get to New York so fast, Merle.” Her eyes narrowed and studied him up and down. “Except you were already here, weren’t you?”
Merle gave her a little smile and a nod. “Caught me. We’re still here on the whole United Nations case.”
Marco sighed, almost deflating. He sat next to Amanda, putting his arm around her. “Suddenly, I’m tired all over again.”
Merle didn’t roll his eyes but started for the curtains. “It’s a little dark in—”
“No!” Marco and Amanda shouted at once.
Merle stopped dead in his tracks, frowned, looked at Amanda, and his expression dropped. “Sorry about that. Wasn’t thinking.”
Marco stared at him for a moment, as though he were stark-raving mad. He focused on his breathing for a bit to calm himself down. “No kidding. Did you forget that she’s a vampire? Really?”
Merle smiled sheepishly. “Kinda. Sorry, you pass for human quite well.”
The two lovebirds exchanged a glance. Merle was so strange, every time they thought they were used to him, he did something new.
“Do you have anything on the UN?” Amanda asked.
“Anything?” Marco added.
Merle sighed. “Little that’s new. Something about the UN getting new troops, or training. The bugs were a little vague – yes, Amanda, we took your advice. And someone else’s.” He looked around the room for a chair, and shrugged, leaning up against a bookcase. “We all suspect that your big boogeyman of ‘The Council’ is a UN Council. Right. Got it. Big deal. Now what? If we wanted to go through the history of corruption at the UN, we’d have to start at day one with Alger Hiss in Lake Success and move on one corrupt year at a time, until current events.”
Amanda frowned. The United Nations were just a small sample of what was going on in the world. Merle was correct: pinning down the corruption to precise activities was—
“Easy,” Marco stated. “They’re evil, right?” His little Scaramouch smile returned as he looked deep into Amanda’s eyes. “What’s the nature of evil?”
“Aside from overreaching?” she asked him.
He nodded. “It’s a wo
rld-wide political organization. Day played geopolitics. I know what I would do if I had all the time in the world and played politicians like a chess game. I’d take over the world.”
At that point, Merle laughed out loud. “You’re joking, right? Vampires take over the world? That would require greater freedom of movement than vampires can manage without five pounds of sunblock and large, wide-brimmed hats.”
Marco shook his head. “Vampires were on both sides of Europe in World War II. Technically, being on either side meant that they won. I mean–”
Amanda suddenly grabbed Marco’s shoulder. “They won.”
Marco looked at Amanda. “I’m sorry, what?”
Amanda looked him right in the eyes. “The Soviets. They won. They kept vampires on the payroll. There were several attempts to roll back their influence after Stalin, but if we assume they went everywhere that the Soviets went…”
Merle and Marco winced this time. Soviet influence during the 20th century was everywhere, including the entire Middle East, Asia, Latin America, and America.
“This explains a few things,” Marco muttered. “They’re everywhere. Merle, your wiretap picked up something about new soldiers. Just imagine, if you had guys like al-Qaeda using vampires for terrorists—”
“They do,” Merle said.
Amanda and Marco looked at the government agent. “What?”
Merle sighed. “That’s what I’ve been doing when I’m not looking into the UN,” he informed them. “I’ve been in the Sandbox hunting vampires. They’ve been spreading throughout the area.”
Marco and Amanda winced.
“Vampires are like cockroaches,” she stated.
“For every one you see, there are at least ten you don’t,” Marco added. “This is bad,”
Merle shook his head. “I don’t get it. When we had this conversation before, we started with a conspiracy that—we think—goes back to the French Revolution, with perversions, demonic rites, and the Soviets repeating a lot of the same crap, leading up to a resurgence of Moloch once abortion went into high gear. But how does all of this lead to them taking over the world?”
“Depends,” Marco said. “Of all the dictators of the world, name one that wouldn’t think that vampires make great super soldiers.”
Amanda and Merle looked at Marco. “Where did you get that idea?”
Marco shrugged. “It’s not my idea.” He poked Amanda in the side. “You told me that Stalin and Hitler used vampires in Gulags and concentration camps.” He looked at Merle. “You just said that terrorists are using vampires. How much of a stretch is it to field vampires as enforcers in a banana republic? Or any two-bit dictator who has delusions of his own adequacy. And if the Council is a UN Council, they have the connections to make that happen.”
Merle spread his hands and held them up as though he were attempting to halt traffic. “Wait. No. Stop. What do you two expect me to do with all of this? Nuke the United Nations?”
Marco scoffed at the idea, then laughed. “While I’m all for burning the UN to the ground like the buggers deserve, we have a much easier solution than that. Even if the Council is more than just Misha – and really, I’d bet that he’s the only one left – he needs support staff. Hit the UN vampires during work hours, you’ll probably cripple them.”
Merle arched a brow. “Oh? Really? And what did you have in mind?”
He looked to his love beside him. “The sprinklers?”
Amanda nodded. “The sprinklers.”
Merle sighed. He was being left out of the conversation. Again. He raised his hand like an annoyed student who just didn’t get it. “What now?”
Marco rolled his eyes. “Look, do you remember the fire hose trick when you first came here? It was part of the cemetery trap?”
“Yeah. You ran a tube from a fire hydrant through a 500-gallon drum of holy water. Adding regular water to holy water makes it holy water. It made a nice water cannon. Why? You intend to hit the UN with a squirt gun?”
Marco shook his head. He smiled evilly. “Not with a squirt gun.”
Marco closed the door behind Merle, and whirled around, energized. Amanda simply watched him from the stairs, a small, amused smile playing on her lips. He bounded up a few steps, quickly kissed her on the lips, and turned, ready to head down. When Marco stopped and turned back, his usual smile had grown predatory. His eyelids had become hooded. He gave a little “hmm” sound which came out more like a purr.
Reaching out, he took her by the waist, and lifted her off the stairs onto the level with him. Drawing her in, Marco kissed her deeply.
Amanda laughed a little before he pressed her to him, his hand coming up along her spine and burying in her hair. He effortlessly held her as he dipped her back, pushing her against the wall of the staircase as the purr became more like a growl.
After so much time had passed that Amanda lost track of time, Robert Catalano cleared his throat at the base of the stairs. “Are you two done yet? There’s food.”
Marco stopped kissing Amanda, leaving her gasping.
The gasp was less because of the kiss, and more because Marco’s eyes had gone from their deep blue color to a bright, startling gold.
“I think you need to take a breath.”
Marco gave a grin that Amanda could only describe as wolfish. “You don’t want me to do that,” he whispered gently. “The more I breathe, the more of your scent I catch. It will only spiral from there.”
Something poked Marco in the leg. He spun, swiping at it so fast, he cut through it.
Robert lifted what was left of the pointer stick, eyeing the smooth, even break, then his son. “Anyway,” he drawled, “there’s food. I suspect I should be making the steaks rare?”
Amanda’s hand clamped down on Marco’s shoulder. She nodded. “Good idea. I have to work with Marco a moment.”
The doctor rolled his eyes as he walked off towards the kitchen. Amanda pulled Marco back towards her and kissed his neck. He relaxed back into her, and she held him against her chest as her lips locked onto his skin. Her fangs slipped easily into his neck. She sucked on his neck, getting a small taste of his blood, and started licking the punctures.
“We need to get married,” he muttered. “We really do. I’m not sure we can keep our mitts off of each other for years. I’m kinda hoping we can manage for one. Just one. That’s not too out there, is it?”
After three minutes of Amanda’s bite, Marco’s breath slowed enough for him to relax even further. She released him, and he turned to face her. His eyes were back to the calm, deep blue she knew so well. “I was that bad, huh?”
Amanda nodded. “Come. Let’s feed you before you bite someone.”
Chapter 18
Flushing the UN
The assault on the United Nations began at noon, as soon as the sun came out. Since it was only a few days into January, the clear sky meant that it was freaking cold. Welcome to New York City—if it was cloudy, it was warmer. If it was a sunny day, it was cold. Because not even the rules of God or Man made sense in New York.
In either event, the assault on the United Nations had to be a three-tiered operation. It was a plan that Merle had started thinking about since he had learned that “vampires” were an option.
Merle had to worry about any access points coming from the UN to Turtle Bay—after all, these vampires didn’t seem to have any problem with running water. It wasn’t like they could drown. The UN was built on Turtle Bay itself, which was originally a cove of the East River, and called Deutal Cove by the Dutch—“deutal” meant “knife,” but sounded enough like the English “turtle” that the name stuck when the area shifted ownership from the Dutch to British colonists.
Thankfully, the water was easy enough to keep it covered as an access point after a few simple sweeps with a mini-submersible Merle had hired locally. There was no way in or out of the United Nations by water unless a vampire wanted to create a tunnel with his bare hands.
There was a route for anyo
ne who wanted to escape by East River Drive—best known to locals as “the FDR.” But that would also require punching through metal and concrete.
Alternately, there was also an easier way out through the underground. The nearest subway access was just over three blocks away.
The biggest problem was the sewers. There was, technically, easy access from the UN to the sewers around the building. A strong enough vampire could quickly move from the UN to the residence complex across the street, or even the massive building dedicated solely to the ventilation of the Queens-Midtown Tunnel. It would be a leisurely break from there to the rest of Manhattan.
The last thing Merle wanted to do was play tunnel rat through thousands of miles of New York City sewers and subways.
Thankfully, he’d recently added someone to his speed dial who could make the necessary arrangements. He got the appointment he needed earlier that day.
When Merle walked into One Police Plaza, Police Commissioner Ray Wilson was already standing, waiting for him. Despite looking like he hadn’t slept the night before, he was immaculately dressed in a three-piece navy suit, reaching out to shake Merle’s hand.
“What can the New York City Police Department do for you, Mister Kraft?” Wilson asked as he led Merle to the couch in his office. Wilson took the armchair, and settled in with a coffee mug big enough to hold 24 ounces of coffee.
Merle just sat. He didn’t take off his windbreaker, or help himself to the coffee tray arrayed on the table. He sat on the edge of the couch, leaning toward the Commissioner, his midnight-blue eyes locked on the city’s chief police officer. “I’m going to need to shut down a few blocks of the city. By noon.”
The PC’s face didn’t move for a moment. His lips pursed a little, but that was about it. His eyes locked onto a point of the floor next to Merle. Merle could see the wheels turn in the man’s mind. He could almost smell the wood burning.