by Declan Finn
Marco chuckled. The first thing he did was get underwear on. “Sorry. But I really need support. It’s a guy thing. I don’t quite think bras have the same issues.” He grabbed the rosaries inside the pack and started applying them as needed. “I’m glad you got the text I sent you from Hector’s phone. I worried that Tully was smart enough to wonder why I only gave him one phone.”
Amanda smiled. Before she had gotten the text with the GPS coordinates for the alley, she had received one a moment before that read: “The next text is a trap. Prep accordingly: Marco.”
“How did you know that you would be able to do that?” she asked.
“I didn’t,” he answered. “I was relatively certain that I wouldn’t go after you, but that was all I knew until they sicced me on Hector and Tolbert.”
Marco stepped out of the alley. He now wore a white winter coat, jeans, and boots. “I guess you figured out that I’d need clothes?”
“Yes,” she admitted. “But I thought you might need them in the morning.”
“Good call.”
She smiled at him. “How did you know that you wouldn’t go after me?” she asked.
Marco moved in close to her. He took her in his arms, brought her close, and kissed her lightly on the lips. “As I said. You’re my mate. Wolves mate for life. And so do I.” He shrugged. “You think that I proposed on a whim?”
Amanda flinched. “Yes. I think you did.”
His omnipresent smile widened just a tad, and he tapped her on the tip of her nose. “Hey. If your power is connected towards your ability to love, just say yes, the sky’s the limit,” he said jocularly.
“Marco, I—” Amanda stopped dead and glanced around. “I think we’re in trouble.”
Marco blinked. “Why? What’s the—”
The wolves started to whimper. Marco looked down the street and saw the problem coming around the corner.
Misha.
Oh darn. “We’re in trouble.” Marco took a step forward and looked at his wolves. Pity, I wanted to hang on to them. “Okay, men,” Marco barked. He pointed at the coming vampire. “Kill him!”
The wolves charged the vampire.
Marco grabbed Amanda’s hand and ran in the other direction.
Chapter 31
Revenge of the Mount Olivet Incident
Marco and Amanda ran until they ran into a very familiar death trap: one of their own.
It was Mount Olivet Cemetery.
Marco’s eyes narrowed. “Son of a…”
Amanda saw it as well. I wonder if Misha wanted us here.
I’m certain of it, Marco thought back at her as they continued to run.
You can hear me? She asked.
Yup. Marco ran up Eliot Avenue, and Amanda followed. The stretch of road ran right between two cemeteries: Mount Olivet and All Faiths. You have to stop being surprised that you’ve got boiler-plate telepathy. We’ve barely figured out how powerful you can be at your current level.
Amanda reached forward, picked up Marco, and ran at full speed, shooting them both to the top of the hill in a matter of seconds. Powerful enough for you?
“I think so,” he muttered. He looked around. Yeah, he wanted us here, Marco thought at her. Right at the cemetery where we defeated most of his brother’s forces. He wanted to kill at least one of us here—me. If I failed to kill you, or you, if something went wrong with his plan. Marco paused a second and decided to leap over the fence. At the very least, he knew how to escape from the cemetery if he needed to.
As Amanda vaulted over the fence, Marco caught her and stopped. His eyes were locked on the darkness, in the distance. He had only just realized that he heard the howls and growling of the pack whimper and die off. “Run,” he told her, loudly and firmly. “Run away, and don’t look back.”
Amanda looked at Marco, but he avoided eye contact. And she didn’t hear anything from his mind. All she felt was his determination. “We can’t stop him,” he said. “Not by ourselves. And you’re more likely to stop him than I am.”
He turned to her, wrapped her up in her arms, and kissed her deeply. He poured as much love into his kiss as he could. He knew exactly one thing: if she followed his advice and ran, he was going to die.
And if she stayed with him, they were both going to die.
Marco pulled back and gave her a sad smile. “I only wish you’d said yes.”
He turned away and ran into the cemetery.
Amanda watched him run away from her, and whispered, “So do I.”
Marco stood in the middle of the cemetery all by himself. He would enjoy the calm, cool, quiet night for just a few more minutes.
He took a deep breath of cold air, letting it fill him and wake him up.
And then he started singing.
“I was born on a Brooklyn street where the vamp’re drums did beat, and those bloodstained demon feet they walked all o’ver us. And each and every night, when my girl would come home light, she’d invite the suckers outside with this choooo-rus:, Oh come out ye God-darn vamps, come out and fight me like a man, show your girl how you would mow us down in Hellll-A—”
“Don’t you ever shut up?”
Marco stopped and smiled down the empty night. “Hi, Igor, how are you?”
There was a motion from one side. A black blur swept down as the vampire landed on the soft earth of the cemetery in a crouch, growling. He straightened, unfurling like a great cloud of smoke. “Don’t you have anything better to do than sing variations on ‘Come out Ye Black and Tans’?”
Marco smiled. “No.” He looked around. As far as he could tell, he was the only living thing around there for blocks. The vampire seemed to be the only unliving thing around for blocks, so they were about even.
Marco narrowed his eyes and gave Misha his patented smile. He would go down snarking, if not fighting. “Ever see Casablanca?” he asked casually, even lightly. “Bogart told the Major how ‘there are certain sections of New York, that I wouldn’t advise you to try to invade.’ You just found one.”
“We shall see.”
Marco only smiled, raised his hands, and beckoned Misha come forward with his fingers in a classic Come and get me gesture.
Even with the enhanced speed and reflexes of a werewolf at Marco’s disposal, Misha was a blur. Marco had only seen just enough of the vampire’s body to see that an uppercut was heading straight for him. He barely twisted out of the way. The vampire’s punch scraped along Marco’s chest. It was a glancing, fleeting blow. Had it been done in slow motion, it would have almost been a light feather drawn along his skin.
The impact shattered Marco’s rib cage, and hurled him across the cemetery, slamming him into a tree. The tree shuddered under the impact. Marco felt the wood pulp against his body. He coughed and something that was decidedly not spit come out of his mouth. The copper taste confirmed it: he was aspirating blood.
He did all this, even though I’m a freaking were-something. Oh … kay. I’m screwed.
Marco straightened his body, forcing himself to stand. With a sound like Rice Krispies being ground underfoot, his ribcage snapped back into place.
He had to keep himself from screaming in utter agony. Breaking the bones had taken less than a second. Fixing them took longer, and it hurt more.
Marco caught sight of Misha up the hill from him, standing on the ridge, hands on his hips. Just waiting.
Marco winced again, but not in pain this time. At the realization that Misha wasn’t interested in just killing him. Marco already knew that he needed fuel to keep up the powers from his werewolf bite, it’s why they fed him so well before sending him out to kill Amanda. It only figured that he could run out of fuel, supernatural beastie or not.
Marco realized that Misha’s plan was simple: he was going to beat Marco to death. After a while, his body would fail to heal, and he would just die.
Lovely.
Marco rolled his shoulders, set his jaw, and muttered, “Is that all you got, Igor?”
Misha b
lurred again.
The vampire came in at Marco so fast, most people couldn’t have seen it, including most vampires. Misha threw himself at Marco, spinning like a buzzsaw. The vampire swung with a left-backhand, a right hook, followed it up with a right roundhouse kick.
Marco dropped and rolled to the side, avoiding all of the strikes. He swept up a splintered piece of tree from where he’d struck it, and rolled back at Misha. He rammed the stake behind Misha’s left kneecap, and twisted, popping the kneecap right off of the bone.
That part hurt.
Misha stumbled, putting his right leg down on the ground to steady himself before he fell over. Marco rammed one of his turpentine knives—courtesy of Amanda—directly between Misha’s legs before rolling away and to his feet. The firecracker attached to the stake hit his skin and the turpentine ignited.
Misha stood there for a moment, grabbing the tree to balance himself. The vampire ground his teeth in pain but did nothing. The fire went out, as though covered with a glass bowl to suffocate the flames. He quickly extracted the pieces with a bit of telekinesis and whirled on Marco, hurling it at him.
But Marco was already a moving target, bounding around the ground and rolling, even as Misha launched his projectiles. He came up, drawing out two wooden knives from his jacket, holding them as though ready for combat.
“That’s one thing I learned from Day,” Marco said. “You can still feel pain.”
Misha stopped and contemplated his adversary. “It’s been a while since I’ve had someone who thinks like me.”
“By the way, how many of you did Nuala train?”
Marco thought about Misha’s next move, expecting a different attack pattern, probably a simple left-right hook combination, or a left-feint and right hook combo, just to test how much force he needed.
“Only me and my brother.”
“Why the two?”
“She killed the rest on the first day of training.” He smiled. “They were weak.”
Marco tested the point of the wooden blade and glanced at it out of the corner of his eye.
He could just about see the moisture in the wood.
And he grinned.
Marco flung one of the knives at Misha. The vampire didn’t even flinch—why should he? Being possessed by Asmodeus, he was impervious to daylight. Wood was barely an issue.
The wood jammed into Misha’s knee, and this time, it hurt for real, punching through the kneecap, and coming out the back of the knee.
Misha screamed in surprise and agony. He growled in pain as his eyes briefly turned “Mister Day” black. Misha pulled the knife away and broke it in one hand. He blinked his eyes clear again. The wood had been treated with holy water. The damage would be permanent, and not even the demonic power of Asmodeus would heal the wound.
Despite having only one functioning leg, he rose and launched himself at Marco. He was already slowing down, the holy damage to his knee sapping some of his demonic strength.
But for Marco, slowing Misha down was more important than making him weaker.
This time, when the vampire came in with a right feint and a left hook, Marco could actually see Misha as he charged. Marco had expected a different move, but it didn’t matter. He used the time of the feint to judge where he should move next. Marco ducked and weaved under the left hook and rammed one knife into Misha’s left tricep and the other into his gut before throwing himself to one side.
Marco rolled to his feet, two more knives in hand.
Misha roared, ignoring both hurts. He threw himself at the tree next to him, pushing off and flying at Marco. The human dropped and rolled forward, under Misha, and came to his feet as the vampire whirled at him. Marco didn’t move as he observed the vampire’s body—totally unhurt. Both of the stakes had disappeared, and only the vampire’s clothing was damaged.
Most importantly, the pants leg was missing over Misha’s left knee, but the knee was completely healed.
It only took a quick second for Marco to figure out what the problem was. When he had fought Mister Day, Day would remove the parts of his body that had been “infected” with holy water, or damaged with chemicals. Up to and including digging in and removing the affected sections. Misha moved fast enough to remove all of the damaged parts from his body without Marco even seeing it.
Yup. I’m in trouble.
Misha lunged, and Marco dropped to one knee, ramming the left-hand knife into the left side of Misha’s chest. Misha’s left hand clipped Marco on the back of the head. Marco rolled, feeling a mild concussion coming on.
Marco jumped to his feet, his legs unsteady. He caught his fall against a mausoleum. Good God, I hope the werewolf healing handles this.
He dug his hands in his pockets, knowing that he was going to need better weaponry. The fingers of his left hand reached through a string of beads, and his right hand grasped another piece of wood.
His vision still blurred, Misha charged him again. Marco whipped up his hand, hoping to catch Misha in the face.
The vampire figured that nothing could come from being smacked, once, by anything that Marco had on him.
Except that Marco’s next blow was the flat side of a crucifix.
Misha’s face sizzled as Marco rammed his kidneys with the rosary-clad left jab and torqued for a right-hook with the cross before leaping back.
Unfortunately, Misha struggled through the pain and grabbed Marco’s right wrist, avoiding the cross, and twisted, hurling him through the air and into the side of the mausoleum. Marco spun in midair to distribute the force of the blow, but that only contained the damage to the left side of his body, cracking three ribs.
Marco dropped to the ground hard, hitting his head on a rock. He was sure he’d have a concussion by the end of the evening, lycanthropy or no lycanthropy. Assuming he wasn’t dead.
Misha kicked Marco in the stomach, breaking something organ-related inside him. Marco coughed up blood.
And that was just from a stomach blow. If he had kicked my chest, it would have just collapsed. God only knows what shape it’s in now.
Marco stabbed Misha in the foot with the sharpened end of the cross, then again in the thigh. Misha ignored it and stomped on his calf.
“I will break you slowly, over time, for your arrogance.”
Misha stepped away, laughing. Marco knew what was going to happen this time. Once again, Misha would wait for him to heal.
You can wait, I’m not going to.
Marco reached inside his jacket and came out with two vials, driving the nail through the cork in the top of each, shook them, and acted like he was about to throw them.
Misha heard this, turned, and cocked a brow. “And?”
Marco groaned. “Never mind. Keep the holy water, Igor,” and tossed them to the vampire.
Even though Misha’s mouth didn’t open, Marco heard another voice, the voice of “Mister Day,” screaming NNNNOOOOOO as the vampire caught the test tubes.
The tubes exploded. The flash of nitroglycerin blinded Misha briefly, long enough for Marco to attack. He threw knife after knife from inside his coat, from the neck sheathes, from up his arm, and from his pockets.
When Amanda packed for him, she was as thorough as he was.
God, I love that woman.
Misha had flames all over his body, and he whirled, putting out each flame in turn. His speed made the stakes fly in all directions. He roared with pain and rage. Lunging for Marco, the vampire scooped him up in one hand by the front of his shirt. Misha’s eyes shifted to solid black, and his face became deformed. His mouth had plenty of sharp teeth.
Marco stared into the vampire’s eyes and growled at him…and then the vampire’s eyes started to change. Something within the blackness of his eyes, something cold and angry, shifted. It had the look of Asmodeus, but different.
Suddenly it started to pour out of his eyes in a rolling black flame. It came out of his pores and his orifices, curling around him like a cloak.
This, Marco Catalano
realized, was Soul Fire.
And like the condition of his skin matched the condition of his soul, the Soul Fire also mirrored Misha’s mind. The fire was a perversion of real flame—black and ice cold.
The flames covered the vampire like a second skin, reaching down over his boots. The grass at his feet withered.
“Now,” Asmodeus and Misha, their voices intertwining and blending together so that they came out three octaves lower than usual. The words dripped with so much malice Marco’s head hurt. “You will suffer. And then, you will die.”
The black flame curled up his arm, moving for Marco’s chest.
Marco grabbed his arm and the Soul Fire stopped. The flames retreated.
Misha’s arm burned. Marco slipped from his fingers… or more precisely, Misha’s fingers slipped off of his hand.
The demon-vampire roared and backed away. The entire arm disintegrated from Misha’s body.
Marco had a crucifix under his shirt in the exact place where Misha had grabbed him.
In a move that Marco had seen Mister Day use, Misha reached over and grabbed his right shoulder with his left hand, and ripped off his own arm, hurling it to one side. The arm disintegrated in mid-air. A spurt of black Soul Fire flared from his body from the ruined stump…making an entirely new arm.
Marco blinked. “Crud.”
Misha/Asmodeus stared at Marco. Black fire still covered his body. The eyes staring back at him were black and insectoid.
He knew he was going to die.
Chapter 32
Black Fire
Marco tried to move, and his internal organs objected. The lycanthropy was healing him, but it still hurt like hell. He used the mausoleum to pull himself up, despite the agony he was in. Misha must have delivered multiple killing blows to his body for it to take so long to heal.
“You think your crucifix can spare you?” the demon-vampire asked. The black Soul Fire swelled in Misha’s hands.
Marco tottered on his feet and gave the demon a feral smile. “The power of God versus the power of a freaking, imbecilic demon,” he spat. “And his pathetic, moronic lackey?” he gasped. “I think I like those odds.”