by Declan Finn
One was a tall, thin, older man, with salt-and-pepper hair. He wore glasses and had a tan that seemed more Italian in nature than a tanning bed or a beach. His features were sharp, but his deep brown eyes were sharper. His arm was around the younger, blond man next to him, but his eyes flicked to the newcomer. He was the first person who seemed to notice Wilson was even there.
The young man next to him wasn’t exactly thin, but more of a dancer regarding build. Perhaps a martial artist. His head hung low, almost on his chest, and his shoulders were slumped as he sagged against the couch. His head tipped back a little as he caught sight of Wilson’s shoes, and then his eyes flicked up to take in Wilson’s presence. He arched a brow, and just sagged back, deflated.
However, on the other end of the couch was someone he knew. Her red-gold hair was flowing and distinctive. Her high cheekbones and profile were even easier to spot. It was hard to forget one of his first crushes, even though he had been 18, in the jungles of Vietnam.
But she didn’t even notice him, all of her focus was on the young man in the middle, her arm around him.
“Everyone with a badge,” Wilson stated simply, “I need the room.”
Suddenly, five of the six officers in the room straightened up, saluted, and swept out, almost like they had evaporated.
One stayed. He was a tall black officer, bigger than even the PC. His posture was ramrod straight as he moved to the couch, next to Amanda. His hat was tucked under his arm, like a knight holding his helmet in the presence of a superior officer.
Wilson said nothing for a moment but sauntered over to the uniform. “Your name, officer?”
“Donald Tolbert, sir.”
Wilson gave a small nod. “Are you not a police officer?”
“Not now, sir,” Tolbert answered. “I’m a friend of the family.”
“Ah. I understand.” His eyes flicked from the couch to the officer. “I’m still going to need the room.”
Amanda Colt put her hand on Tolbert’s arm. “Donald. It is okay.”
Tolbert glanced at her and nodded. He strode out of the room. Wilson’s eyebrows moved up, paused, then down. “It seems you have more authority with my men than I do,” he said casually. Wilson grabbed the large red leather armchair, and pulled it over to face the three of them as he sat down. “Hi.” He looked to all of them. “You know who I am, yes?”
The older man reached over, grabbed the newspaper from the side table, and flipped to the front page. It showed a photograph of PC Wilson. “You could say that,” he drawled.
Wilson nodded. “Granted. You are Doctor Robert Catalano?”
“I am.”
Wilson nodded to redheaded. “Miss Colt and I have met.” He locked straight onto the man in the middle. “And I presume that this is Marco.”
Marco barely lifted his hand from his lap and gave him a single wave to acknowledge his presence.
“Is there a Missus Catalano?” he asked.
“She’s out of town,” Robert answered. “At a medical conference.”
The Commissioner nodded. He looked to each in turn for a moment, trying to assess everything. “So,” Wilson began, “what exactly happened here? Miss Colt, would you like to begin?”
“A vampire attack,” she said flatly. “He is strong enough to attack in broad daylight.”
Wilson nodded slowly and thoughtfully, just taking in the information. “I didn’t think such a thing was possible.”
“It shouldn’t be. But it is.”
“Telekinetic shield,” Marco muttered. “Blocked bullets with it. But he doesn’t need it. He seems to be invulnerable to almost anything we throw at him.” He actually looked at the commissioner, with dark blue eyes that were sad and tired. “Saw the cars outside?”
Wilson nodded. “I did. Minigun?”
Amanda stroked Marco’s arm, still not looking at Wilson. “All of those bullets hit him.”
Wilson flinched but tried to hide it. “I see.” He looked over them and waited for someone to finish the rest of the story. “But you drove him off somehow.”
Marco cleared his throat. “Hendershot did.” He pointed towards the blood trail in the outer hallway. “Holy water on wooden bullets.”
“Ah. I’m sorry about your friend.”
Marco actually smiled a little, and laughed. “I couldn’t stand the bastard. He had all the charisma of a brick and just as charming.” His eyes met Wilson’s, and they narrowed. “But he was one of mine, Commissioner. You understand that, don’t you?”
Wilson gave a single nod. “I do. I heard there were two gunmen?”
“Three,” Amanda corrected. “One blew up.”
The Commissioner gave no visible reaction. “Of course he did. And the two men in the dining room?”
“Werewolves,” Robert Catalano answered. “We’re going to need a lot of silver polish.”
Now Wilson winced. Getting blood out of good silver would indeed be a pain. “One of them had part of his spine missing?”
“My fault,” Marco answered. “I got excited.”
The PC arched his brows. “Really? And what are you?”
“I’ll let you know in the next day or two,” he answered. “I was only bitten yesterday. I’m not entirely certain that our plan to keep me in check is going to work as well as I thought.”
“Ah.” He looked over the three of them. “Anything else?”
“Good luck filling out the police report,” Marco said.
The Commissioner actually smiled at that. “Terrorists blew up your hospital back in September, for the anniversary of 9-11.” He looked at Robert. “They tried to finish the job a few weeks ago, back in December. And today was another attempt to do just that. But like all terrorists, they have a tendency to be liberal with the explosives, but short on the aiming.”
Marco actually smirked at that. “Okay. You win.”
“I’m glad you approve.” He looked to the vampire. “Miss Colt. May I talk to you for a moment outside?”
“I hope you mean in the hallway,” Marco muttered. “It’s a nice sunny day out there.”
“Of course.”
“Kitchen is probably better,” Robert added. “No CSU guys in there.”
Wilson nodded, and Amanda slowly followed suit, patting Marco on the arm as she moved away from him.
When they made it into the kitchen, Wilson leaned up against the island in the middle, keeping his hands in his pockets the entire time. “So, fifty years, and I don’t even get a handshake?”
Amanda smiled sadly. “Apologies. This has been a bad day.”
“Aw, I’ll forgive that. Though it would have been nice to know you were in my city for the last two decades. I’ve had a good job or two since then.”
Amanda gave a little chuckle. “I had noticed. I just wanted to be left alone. Until I met Marco, I had been doing a good job.”
“Not so much lately, huh?”
“No.”
Wilson took in a deep breath, and let out a hearty sigh. “So, what now? A vampire that can walk around in daylight? He can take anything but holy objects? If he can block bullets with his mind, should I guess that he threw those slabs of concrete the same way?” he asked, pointing to the front hallway. “The kind of creature that can do that is not one I want running around my city.”
“I know, Ray. We will handle it. We must. He wants us dead.”
“I gathered that. My question is how? With what forces? He has minions and werewolves, and he’s his own one-man band. And since you’re working with Merle Kraft—yes, we’ve met—I presume that there are also vampire underlings involved in this organization. What do you have? Some street thugs, a few SpecOps guys, and some of my cops. That’s it. Do you have a plan, at least?”
“Not yet,” she said, exasperated. “He only revealed himself last night.”
“He really wants you dead,” he stated. “I gather this is connected to the two other attacks I mentioned? On the hospital?”
Amanda nodded. �
�Yes. But we don’t know what his full capabilities are.”
Wilson sighed and humphed. “Okay. Listen, I have a few guys I can call in on the whole vampire thing. Let me know if and when you need help.”
“I will. Thank you.”
“That being said, where are you folks going to spend the night? You can’t stay here. If it was this bad in daylight, nighttime won’t fare any better.”
Amanda smiled. “Do you think we can find one fortified position in all of New York that’s religious in nature?”
The Commissioner gave a broad, tight smile. “I think we can manage that.” He straightened, moving back towards the living room. “By the way, Jen sends her regards.”
Amanda furrowed her brows and frowned prettily. “Jennifer Bosley?”
He nodded. “You know each other, don’t you?”
“Yes. But how do you?” She pointed between the two of them. “You and I know each other from Vietnam. But Bosley?”
Another little smile. “Jen’s been a good friend to me, and the department, since I was a uniform. She cleaned up some of the messes that had threatened to become high profile before they got away from her—mostly vampires who thought that they could rampage throughout our city without any backlash. She was the backlash. She said it was pragmatic.”
Amanda frowned. Jennifer Bosley had never told her any of this. Though it made her even more curious about how Bosley had never interceded in the first appearance of the vampire menace arising in Brooklyn over a year ago.
Except … Bosley already said that the Vampire Association was intimidated by whatever was behind Mikhail, Day and Nuala – i.e.: The Council. We know Misha is probably part of the Council. He could be what’s left of the Council, for all we know. If this is a mess that not even Bosley wants to clean up—her and a few thousand vampires—then we might all be in trouble.
Chapter 22
Hideaway
In Queens, New York, at the intersection of Wexford Terrace and Edgerton Boulevard, lies the end of the world in New York City environs. It is the Eastern end of the subway system, which for many Manhattanites is the same thing. It is six miles short of the border between Queens and Nassau County, referred to as “the Island” … the political entity that is Long Island.
Many people, even citizens, regularly remain oblivious that New York City is on multiple islands. Manhattan and Staten Islands are islands unto themselves, and Queens and Brooklyn are on The Isle of Long, which is different from the political entity of Long Island. “Long Island” consists of Nassau County, Suffolk County, and, thinking they are enclave all their own, the Hamptons.
At the End of the World, there are only two buildings. On one side, left as you go up the steep incline of Edgerton, are the stone walls and iron rail fence of The Mary Louis Academy. Yes, “The” is part of their title, in capital letters. There’s a reason the location is referred to as “Snob Hill”. “The” Academy in question is an all-girls high school. It was attached to a convent, designed in California mission-style. It held the Sisters of St. Joseph, the order of nuns who founded and taught at the school.
The other side of the street, directly across from the convent, was the Passionist monastery of the Immaculate Conception. Edgerton was one of the few places you could really see the monastery portion of the compound. Most of what the average pedestrian could see as they walked up the hill was the church and the driveway. If someone walked along Wexford Terrace, they could barely see over the low wall and iron rail fence—the view was obscured by the steep angle of the hill, as well as the flora. Coming up the other blocks provided few good sight lines—the monastery was hidden by trees or another Catholic school.
This made the area perfect for anyone looking to hide from determined, murderous vampires without leaving the city limits. It was practically the other end of the world from Greenpoint, Brooklyn. Geographically, it wouldn’t be easy to guess where they were. The location itself would prevent psychic listening by Misha-- or anyone else for that matter.
Which was exactly what Police Commissioner Wilson and Amanda Colt had in mind.
The quarters weren’t lavish. The best accommodation was a monk’s cell, which wasn’t much larger than a Tombs prison cell. In fact, the ACLU would complain if prisoners were treated like the average monk.
Marco didn’t mind. He was busy being ill.
Marco’s introduction to his temporary living quarters saw him staggering into the room and stumbling onto the thin, narrow bed.
Amanda walked in close behind him, trying to be polite to their host— who solicitously followed them in. The pastor had heard from Monsignor Rodgers and knew that Amanda and Marco needed to hide. Marco also had a “condition.”
No one mentioned the condition was becoming a were-beastie.
Amanda closed the door behind her, watching Marco pull himself farther onto the mattress. His condition had devolved on the way. Since it was too easy to have eyes on the subways, they had taken the surface—just another black SUV on the road. Unfortunately, police procedure had taken hours—it was difficult to have a war in the middle of a city street and not have a few pounds of paperwork to fill out. Between that and negotiating traffic in the late afternoon, it was already dark by the time they got to the monastery.
Despite biting Marco yet again, he already exhibited the effects of the bite. He shook, damp with cold sweats, and he held onto the bed sheets as though he’d fall off the world if he let go. He couldn’t even sit up; the sweat-dampened pillows flattened under his wide shoulders and listless bulk. The bed creaked alarmingly every time he moved. It looked like going through withdrawal.
Amanda shook her head as she approached. She had to do something, perhaps bite him again—
Her train of thought interrupted by a knock on the door.
Amanda stopped, furrowed her brows, and eyed the door. She held herself very still. She took a breath, then caught a whiff of a familiar, stupid combination of scents. It was marijuana with a hint of meth. Her eyes glowed briefly, and she stifled them in frustration.
Damn it, really? She turned, pulling open the door just enough to slip out into the hall.
She wasn’t entirely prepared for what awaited her.
There was the green-eyed redhead, Yana, who Amanda had expected. She had been thin, but hollow cheeks and jutting jaw bones lent harshness to her soft features, emphasized by her new severe butch haircut. Ribs were visible through her thin, form-fitting “So Mote It Be” tee shirt. There were dark circles under her eyes, hinting at last month’s ordeal—between losing her girlfriend, and being forcibly controlled by a thousand-year-old evil, Yana had earned a few sleepless nights.
The next one was a brunette, who Amanda hadn’t been able to smell over the scent of Yana’s drug use. She was slender, healthier, and athletically built, with broader shoulders than Yana. Her complexion was either a dark Russian, or a light-complected Hispanic, with high cheekbones, and cocoa brown eyes. Amanda concluded that this was the one Marco described as “Jackie.”
The last one nearly floored her in surprise, but she recognized his ugly mug faster than her hair-trigger reflexes. He was the short, male redhead, like a younger Barry Fitzgerald, with hair the bright red native to fire engines.
“Rory, how are you?” Amanda hugged him. He jumped in surprise and took a moment to return the hug.
“I’m good, lass,” he said with his thick brogue. He patted her back, and she let go.
Amanda turned to the two women and held out her hand. Yana shook Amanda’s hand. Jackie pulled Amanda into a hug, which became a little bit too casual. When Amanda felt Jackie’s hand moving down her back, Amanda pulled away. She pushed off Jackie.
“I’m Jackie.”
Amanda’s eyes narrowed. “I could guess.” She looked at Rory. “What brings you three to New York?”
“Merle, of course,” Rory answered. “All hands on deck, and all that.” He smiled. He unzipped his heavy, Kelly green winter coat, and pulled back a lapel
, showing off the shiny new pistol at home in his shoulder holster. “Thankfully, George is a good lad, and provided me with a few of me own toys.”
Amanda smiled. She didn’t know how good bullets would be in this situation, but with Misha directing a pack of werewolves, she could understand having a gunslinger around. They needed all the help they could get.
Wait a second … “You saw George?”
“Aye,” Rory said. “Who do you think picked us up from the airport? He and his men should be in position by now.”
Amanda sagged a little in relief. With the ninjas and Merle’s SpecOps forces outside, she felt a lot better. The church would keep out vampires. And while prayer could keep Misha from tracking their thoughts, werewolves could technically pick up their scent. The odds of that were low, but having a strike force outside made her relax.
She grinned at Rory. “Thank you for coming.”
“Of course,” Rory said. “I owe the little blighter.”
Amanda furrowed her brows and cocked her head. “What do you mean? Which blighter?”
Rory shrugged. “I was dog-piled by a bunch of minions a few days ago. Marco pulled me out of it. It’s a good thing he doesn’t have a problem with getting his hands dirty. Otherwise, I’d be a pile of ash by now.”
Amanda smiled. “Indeed.” She looked at Jackie and Yana. “You two are here to help as well?”
Yana nodded. “Yup. We figured that some extra eyes couldn’t hurt.”
Jackie shrugged. “We wanted to see New York.”
Amanda rolled her eyes. “Of course.”
Yana looked around Amanda, towards the door. “Is Marco okay?”
“He was bitten by a werewolf. No.”
Yana gasped. “But George is a good puppy.”
Rory chuckled and pulled out a cigarette. He paused since he couldn’t smoke in there. “Aye. Except that George’s dark side isn’t exactly Marco’s, now is it?”
Yana winced as she thought it over. “Oh. Right. That could be … yikes. Do we know what he’s going to turn into?”
“Whatever best reflects him,” Rory answered. “It could be anything, really. But werewolves are the most common. Aggressive predators who will follow an Alpha?”