The Watcher had only given him a name (Nikki Wood), a location (New York City), and a phone number for the answering service used by the girl’s Watcher. One steamer ride to New York Harbor later, and he was on the case.
To his surprise, in the days since his arrival, and despite his refreshing meal after CBGB’s, he had actually learned less than he had gotten from that weed of a Watcher. All the usual sources for demonic info knew only that there was a Slayer in town, and the smart vampire didn’t mess with her. Nobody even knew her name.
Stupid was dazed on the litter-strewn pavement, leaving Big to try another grab, which was about as successful as the first one. I’m thinking I got the nicknames backward, Spike thought. This time Big managed to grab the coat, at least, but the Slayer still kicked him, this time in the stomach.
She also spoke for the first time. “Hands off the coat, turkey!”
Spike smiled. He didn’t blame her for being protective—that was a fine coat she wore.
Nikki punched Big a few more times, ending with a haymaker that sent Big crashing into the Dumpster. A haymaker—amazing. Spike had seen over half a dozen Slayers in the last seventy-seven years. Until this one, they all had evidence of Oriental martial arts training. The girl in China was the most impressive—she was like a dancer, waving that enchanted sword around. Vampiric healing notwithstanding, Spike still had the cut on his eyebrow from that blade, which was why he assumed the sword to have been enchanted. In retrospect, he should have found out what had been done to that weapon, but he was young then.
But where that girl, and all the other Slayers he’d seen, looked like Bruce Lee, this one fought more like Muhammad Ali. She didn’t have the elegance Spike had come to associate with Slayers—she was more of a pugilist, hacking and punching and kicking her way to success.
Then the Slayer pulled her stake out of one of the leather coat’s pockets and threw it across the alley at Big.
It hit his heart dead-on, and Big collapsed into dust.
She then walked over to Stupid, who was still rolling on the ground clutching his groin. Soddin’ hell, Spike thought at Stupid, be a man.
Nikki picked Stupid up by the fringe-covered vest that was all the vampire was wearing above the waist, apart from the bandanna around his head.
“Ain’t gonna kill you, Hodge. Got a message for Reet, and I want you to deliver it. You tell that turkey to keep away from Hell’s Kitchen. He got Harlem already, he is not expandin’ his racket. You hearin’ me, fool?”
“You’re—you’re lettin’ me go?”
Smiling, Nikki said, “You gonna deliver the message?”
Nodding quickly, Stupid—or, rather, Hodge—said, “Right on, sister, I’ll deliver any message you want, long as you ain’t stakin’ me.”
“Cool.” The Slayer let go of Hodge, and he fell to the pavement, then quickly scrambled to his feet and ran out of the alley and down 45th, across Tenth, and on toward Ninth.
Spike nodded. Not bad. Good job to scope her out first. Would’ve approached this all wrong and bollixed it up. Nikki didn’t have the intricacy of the other Slayers, but he realized that there was still a brutal elegance about her style. However, she wasn’t a finesse fighter, so Spike would have to adjust accordingly.
The other adjustment was in how Nikki operated. Usually Slayers were under the radar. Nobody knew she was there, except for the demons she killed, her Watcher, and damn few others.
But, while most of the so-called Big Apple was as oblivious as the rest of the world to the presence of vampires, there were some who knew that there was a Slayer looking out for them. Most of them were in Hell’s Kitchen, Times Square, and Harlem, where people were talking up the Slayer like she was the second coming of Malcolm bloody X.
Irritatingly, none of the meat puppets had given up anything either. While this Slayer wasn’t as covert as her predecessors, she was just as secretive—she simply did it by going all folk hero. Which didn’t really help him narrow down where she might live.
The stories they had told him were a bit outlandish, as well. One bloke told him that the Slayer was the one who stopped the city from tearing down Grand Central Terminal. Another said the Slayer stopped the apocalypse from happening during the bicentennial (as if the two hundredth anniversary of this colony-with-delusions would be worth marking with an apocalypse, Spike had thought disdainfully). Then there were the tots who assured Spike that the Slayer made their mama and their papa get back together. Spike’s favorite was the bird who confidently stated that the Slayer was really the Son of Sam killer, and that all her victims were really vampires in disguise.
The only useful intelligence Spike had received was word that the Slayer planned to take out some bloodsuckers that were extracting protection money from a deli on 45th and Tenth. Spike had viewed that as an ideal opportunity to do some reconnaissance.
He watched as Nikki went into the store—no doubt to assure the owners that she’d taken care of business—and then he got up and ran across the dirty roof to the fire escape on the other side. It was getting late, and the Ramones would be starting soon. I didn’t spend two weeks in a cargo hold just to miss the bloody Ramones. . . .
Tomorrow night he’d start the dance with Nikki the Vampire Slayer.
Chapter Eight
New York City
July 8, 1977
10:15 p.m.
Nikki walked up the creaky stairs to her apartment in a fine mood. She’d gotten to stake Bodie and scare his sidekick Hodge half to death. Hodge’d deliver the message to Reet, and Reet’d probably stake him on general principles anyhow. She’d crossed paths with Bodie and Hodge a few times in the last month or so, and she was glad to be rid of them. They weren’t Commies, which disappointed Marty when she told him about it on the way inside the theater, but she was completely cool with it.
The Gem was showing The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly, so it was with the muffled voice of Clint Eastwood as the Man with No Name reverberating through the walls that Nikki entered her apartment.
She found Crowley sitting on the couch, reading one of his dusty old books and smoking a cigarette. More books sat in a pile on the crate next to the pottery ashtray, which was full of cigarette butts. “You know, Crowley, I got enough funky smells in this pad without you bringin’ your library down.”
Crowley looked up, only just registering that Nikki had come in. “Hmm? Oh, sorry, Nikki, I was caught up. Don’t worry, Robin’s already fast asleep, despite the cinematic nonsense.”
Since it was two hours after Robin’s bedtime, Nikki for damn sure hoped he was in bed. She tossed her coat onto the easy chair, then sat down while she unlaced her platforms. “Sorry for stayin’ out late, but—”
“Yes, young Mr. Manguson passed on your message. I take it that Reet is trying to expand his protection racket?”
“Tryin’ and failin’,” she said as she kicked off her shoes. “I dusted Bodie and sent Hodge back with a note from Big Mama Slayer.”
“Well done,” Crowley said quickly, “but I’m afraid that we have bigger fish to fry. Two, to be precise. First of all, I received a message from the Council. Apparently, tomorrow at sunset is the commencement of the Feast of Pohldak. I would’ve sworn that it wasn’t for a few more months, but there it is.”
“So what happens on the Feast of Pohldak?” Nikki asked as she stretched her arms, feeling the bones in her neck and shoulders snap, crackle, and pop.
“Thankfully, not much, but certain magical hot spots become a good deal more—well, fertile. From what the Council said in their message, Sheep Meadow will be one of the big ones, so it’s quite likely that some miscreant will be trying to raise a demon or cast a spell or some such there. Best if you keep an eye on it.”
Nikki leaned back in the chair, her Afro settling against the leather coat. “That works out fine. I was gonna take Robin to one o’ the zoos tomorrow. It’ll just be the Central Park one, and I’ll swing by Sheep Meadow round sunset.”
Crowley wi
nced. “You may not want to endanger Robin—”
Rolling her eyes, Nikki said, “You said it would just be some miscreants. It ain’t a major ritual thing, right?”
“No, but . . .” Crowley grabbed his cigarette and took a drag.
When Crowley’s hesitation went on way too long, Nikki said, “But what?”
“I’m less concerned about Pohldak than I am about the second fish that needs frying. You see, there’s a new vampire in town.”
Figures Crowley heard about this too. “British honky punk, right?”
Crowley blinked a few times. “Er, well, yes.”
Nikki chuckled at Crowley’s surprise. “Blind Willie told me ’bout him. Said Reet’s boys’re lookin’ for him—prob’ly to recruit.”
“Yes, well, that’s unlikely.”
Not liking the tone in Crowley’s voice, Nikki leaned forward again. “What’s goin’ on, Crowley? Who is this cat?”
Crowley set the book down and got up from the couch. He started pacing the small room, puffing on his cigarette, finally stopping at the window that looked out over 42nd Street. “The vampire is called William the Bloody, sometimes known by the nom du guerre of ‘Spike.’ Apparently, he used to delight in torturing victims by driving railroad spikes through their heads.”
Shrugging, Nikki said, “So he’s a regular nasty bloodsucker. I’ll stake his ass like I would any—”
“He’s not just a regular nasty bloodsucker, Nikki,” Crowley snapped, whirling on her. “I’ve brought these books here because they include what we know about William—and his cohorts.”
Nikki didn’t like the sound of that, either. “What cohorts?”
“William is often in the company of a vampire called Drusilla. They seem to be lovers—where William is sadistic, Drusilla is quite mad. She’s also rumored to have precognition.”
“What kinda disease is that?”
That actually got a smile out of Crowley. “It’s not a disease, Nikki, it means she can see the future.”
She leaned back again. “Great. Look, I did my good deed tonight, and I’m feelin’ cool. We gotta do this now?”
“I’m afraid we must—you see, Nikki, William’s other two known associates are a vicious killer named Angelus—and Darla.”
Suddenly Nikki shot out of the easy chair. “What?”
Crowley was still standing by the window, now running his free hand over his bald head while holding the cigarette in the other. “In the late nineteenth century, Angelus, William, Drusilla, and Darla cut a swath through Europe and Asia. They began in London in 1880, worked their way through the continent and later the Balkans, and eventually wound up in China during the Boxer Rebellion in 1900. As it happens, the current Slayer was in Peking at the time.” Up until now, Crowley had been studying the floor while he talked, but he looked up to tell her this: “She fought William, and he killed her.”
However, Nikki was focused on a different part of the conversation. “This William cat—he ran with Darla?”
“Yes.” Crowley nodded slowly. “But, to be honest, the last report of the four of them seen together was from Peking, seventy-seven years ago.”
Nikki started pacing. “Yeah, but for all we know, they’re bosom buddies. Dammit, Crowley, we gotta—”
Crowley put his free hand on her shoulder, causing her to raise her arms defensively before she forced herself to put them down. To his credit, Crowley didn’t flinch, trusting his Slayer.
Wish I trusted myself that much, Nikki thought. I can’t believe that bitch might be back.
“I’ve put in a call to the Council already,” Crowley said calmly, “and according to their most recent intelligence, Darla is still in Italy. They’re checking again, and we should know tomorrow sometime.”
“Sooner the better, Crowley—if that bitch is back, I want to know.”
For the last year, Nikki had been going over what happened with Darla, and every time it came back to the same missed chance. They’d fought several times, including a donnybrook that almost tore Studio 54 apart, but Nikki hadn’t been able to defeat the vampire. Every time, Darla managed to distract Nikki or sneak out or do some damn thing.
The final straw was when Nikki had chased the blond bitch to the 79th Street Boat Basin. Nikki had arrived just a minute too late—Darla’s boat was pulling into the Hudson River. The vampire had set all the other boats in the basin on fire, leaving Nikki standing impotently amid the flames, holding a stake that she couldn’t do a damn thing with.
It was after that encounter that she started practicing throwing her stake. She spent months getting that down to the point where she’d nailed a dozen bloodsuckers that way, including Bodie tonight. She wasn’t getting caught out like that again.
Suddenly something Crowley had said finally registered. “He killed a Slayer, you said?”
Crowley nodded. “At the turn of the century in Peking. Spike has encountered a few others as well, though he’s only killed the one. According to one report, he’s rather obsessed on the subject of Slayers.” He looked away. “And if he’s brought either Drusilla or Darla or Angelus or any combination of them . . .” He looked back at her. “These next few days will be difficult.”
“Yeah, well, difficult was when those Polgara demons stomped through Fordham University. Difficult was when those six vampires fed between games of a doubleheader at Shea. Difficult—”
Holding up a hand, Crowley said, “I get the idea. Still, we’ll need to plan. For one thing . . .” He let out a smoky breath. “William, Angelus, Darla, Drusilla—they all have a tendency to take over whatever group of vampires they’re in. So don’t be surprised if William tries to move in on Reet’s territory. My fear is that he’s not alone. Angelus is one of the most vicious killers the world has ever known, Drusilla’s a madwoman, William has killed a Slayer—and you know about Darla.” Once again he put a hand on her shoulder. “Yes, you’ve faced difficulties in the past, but this has the potential to be the worst.”
Nikki nodded, then shrugged off Crowley’s hand and walked over to the easy chair. She picked up her coat and slung it over her shoulders, shrugging into it. “Then I’d best be gettin’ my black ass back out there.”
“Indeed,” Crowley said. “And watch that ass, Miss Wood.”
That got Nikki’s attention. The music from The Good, the Bad, and the Ugly filtered through the walls just as she put her hand on the doorknob.
Crowley only called her “Miss Wood” when he wanted to get her attention.
“I will,” she said.
“Oh, one more thing.” Crowley walked over to the couch and picked up a manila envelope that Nikki hadn’t noticed. He pulled a sheet of paper out and showed it to Nikki. “This is what William looks like.”
Nikki peered at the piece of paper, which was a black-and-white pencil drawing of a dude with spiky hair—that fits with his nickname—and a scar on his left eyebrow. “Thought bloodsuckers didn’t scar.”
“Oh, they do, they just usually heal.” Crowley put out his cigarette. “It’s the legacy William carries from his victory over your Asian predecessor. She carried an enchanted sword—a gift from a Buddhist monk she rescued from a dragon once—and used it on William. He’s carried the scar ever since.”
Looking around her apartment, which was also a gift from a grateful rescuee, Nikki wondered who’d gotten the better end of the deal. Enchanted sword would come in real handy right now.
Then she rejected the notion. Cleopatra Jones and Batman didn’t use swords, either.
Giving Crowley a nod, she went out on patrol. Right now, more than anything, Nikki was in the mood to hit something.
Chapter Nine
New York City
July 9, 1977
8:45 p.m.
Robin kept insisting it wasn’t going to rain, but Nikki made him take a rain slicker and galoshes anyway when they went to Central Park. Robin said it wasn’t fair, it wasn’t going to rain, and Mama was just being silly.
But Nikki wouldn’t take no for an answer. She wasn’t about to let her baby boy catch a cold. And if it didn’t rain, then Robin got exercise carrying around the little bag with the boots and coat, so he could be big and strong like Mama.
That usually got Robin to stop complaining. At least for a little while.
Patrol hadn’t gone all that well the previous night. She’d stopped a couple more vamps from pulling the same garbage on an auto parts place uptown that Bodie and Hodge were pulling on Hank’s aunt and uncle’s deli. But otherwise, Nikki was distracted. This William dude sounded like bad news, and if Darla was with him . . .
In four years of slaying, the worst feeling Nikki had ever had was standing there on the boat basin, stake clutched in her hand, boats burning around her, and feeling completely helpless while Darla sailed away. Nikki had come this close to jumping in the water after her, but Nikki didn’t know how to swim, and even if she did, diving into the Hudson River was taking your life into your hands.
So she had just stood there.
Now she was standing outside the carousel, watching Robin bob up and down on a white horse, laughing and having a great time.
Thoughts of Darla and this William the Bloody cat fell out of her head—or at least moved to the back of it—and she laughed as she watched her baby boy holding on to the golden pole and saying, “Hi-Yo, Silver—away!” as he passed by Nikki, just like the Lone Ranger did on TV.
When the carousel slowed to a stop, Robin joined the other children running around the black fence until they reached the EXIT sign. Nikki was waiting for him on the other side.
“Didja see, Mama? I caught the outlaws!”
Getting down on her knees, Nikki smiled. “Good job, baby boy! You gonna take ’em to jail?”
“Nah, Tonto’ll do that. I had to come back to you!”
Chuckling, Nikki got to her feet, took Robin’s hand, and started walking toward the Sheep Meadow.
It had been a good day, for the most part. At first Robin had been disappointed that they weren’t going to the Bronx Zoo—he really had his heart set on Wild Asia—but Nikki said maybe next weekend. Mama had to check something in Central Park for Crowley at sunset, she said. By the time they took the IRT up to the Bronx Zoo and back again, it would be too late. “The mission,” she had reminded him, “is what matters.” Then she had smiled. “Besides, we can go on the carousel!”
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