by ID Johnson
His face contorted in surprise. “What do you mean?”
“Well, you threw me out of an airplane today,” she reminded him.
“I said I love you before I threw you out.”
“You turned your IAC off right before you crashed.”
“I didn’t want you to see me splat all over the place or cry like a little girl,” he explained.
“You didn’t say anything at all when I left without you.”
“You seemed like you needed some alone time.”
“And you didn’t come into the shower with me.”
“Again, I thought you wanted to be alone. And, as I reminded you earlier… I do have X-ray vision.”
She shook her head slowly, and he leaned in, resting his forehead against hers. “Cadence, did you really think we weren’t okay?” he asked quietly.
“No,” she sighed. “It’s just… this job is hard. I just wanted to make sure.”
“We’ll always be okay,” he assured her. “Better than okay. Okay?”
“Okay,” she agreed. He leaned in and found her lips with his, and she immediately knew beyond a shadow of a doubt they were definitely better than okay.
Chapter Five
Dusk. The time of day when shadows began to knit themselves together, when darkness intertwines with the last fading spindles of light; the time of day when eyes play tricks and forms shift into unfamiliarity. Far better than the pitch blackness and complete uncertainty of night, dusk still seems somewhat trustworthy, as if nothing dangerous could happen--not yet; the last few rays of translucent light surely provide a barrier from the evil of night. At least, that is what most people tended to think. One of the things that Steven liked best about his extracurricular activities was the look of shock she always expressed at realizing he was near, and the time had come. He really couldn’t describe just how incredible it felt, how the adrenaline danced in his veins in those first few seconds, before the scream broke free, before the blood began to flow. Of course, he enjoyed those parts, too, particularly the ripping sound of flesh and bone. But nothing could ever quite compare with that first flicker of recognition--and terror. He always enjoyed the terror most of all.
This evening, he was crouched low beneath the protective branches of a tall pine tree. He was dressed all in black so that the shadows could creep around him and obscure him for just a few seconds more. He could hear her labored breathing as she approached. They were always panting like bitches in heat. Ending that sound was yet another draw to completing the task.
She was rounding the corner now; he could see flashes of her red tennis shoes hitting the concrete between the needles of the trees in front of him. Her head was bouncing up and down, which was always an indication that she had earbuds in. The music had taken over, and she was oblivious to the world around her--oblivious to his intent for the next few seconds, anyway. And then, the moment would come, that perfect moment of revelation.
He took one more cursory look around, though he was positive they were alone. He’d already made sure of that. Once she passed by, he lurched from his hiding place, grabbing her from behind, one hand around her neck, the other over her mouth. He wanted to hear her scream, but not yet; he needed to see her face as the horror unleashed from within her. As soon as he had his hands in position, he began to drag her into the woods, back towards the cover of the trees.
She was stronger today than she had been last time, or the time before that, and even though he had been lifting at the gym for endless hours each day in continued preparation for this moment, her new found strength threw him off a bit, and she clawed insistently at his arm as he struggled to pull her away from the jogging path. He was afraid, afraid she might find a way to get away from him. Despite her best efforts, however, his grip on her neck began to win out, and by the time he got her deeper into the woods and beneath the foliage, she was somewhat subdued. He tossed her to the ground and fell down on top of her, preventing her from escape. Then, it happened, she turned and locked eyes on him. That perfect moment of terror was here again at last, and her face crinkled in a shriek of unadulterated horror. With a smirk of pure pleasure, he yanked out his knife, and holding onto the crown of dark hair on the top of her head with one hand, he pulled up, asking, “Did you really think you were going to get away with it, bitch?” as he brought the blade down against the fleshy sinews of her throat.
She let out a scream, like she always did, and then the sputtering started as she began to choke on her own blood. Occasionally, she would choke out a few words--a question, “Why?” or perhaps a prayer. This time, she said nothing, just looked at him with those tear-filled eyes.
He usually liked to watch the entire process, see the life drain right out of her eyes with each spurt of blood. But he wouldn’t be awarded that luxury tonight as a noise off in the distance caught his attention. It sounded as if someone else was coming. He couldn’t risk being caught; if anyone knew he had been the one to kill her, he might be in trouble. No one would understand why he needed to punish her; no one would believe his story. As he pulled himself up to his feet, he couldn’t help but look back down at her face one more time. Her eyes were wide open, the whites standing out in contrast against the shadows of dusk. Her mouth was still open in a silent scream, and while he was sure her heart was still beating, he knew that would come to a reverberating end momentarily. He smiled again, admiring his work, and absently rubbing his arm, Steven Gibbon disappeared into the night.
***
The blonde waif was waning. In fact, this might be the last time that she was able to serve as a reserva de sange. It was a pity, too, because not only was she somewhat attractive, despite having wallowed in filth these past several months, her blood was rich and sweet. It had a certain quality to it that was difficult to find, and when the locals had dragged her in, Giovani had been pleasantly surprised at their good fortune. If this feeding killed her, however, he would have to resort back to one of the others, and none of them had satisfied his craving the same way as the dirty blonde. Of course, they would have to replace her, and there was always a chance they could get lucky again and pluck an equally delectable sample off the street, but it wasn’t likely; specimens such as this came along only once in a decade, if one were lucky.
He released her, letting her head sway back against the dingy dungeon wall, her chains rattling as he did so, fairly certain no amount of food or beverage would restore her this time, and as he licked the last few drops of blood off of his mouth, he crossed over to where Zabrina sat in an upright chair looking uncomfortable and bored. “I think that’s the last of her,” he muttered as he sat down next to her.
“It’s just as well,” she replied, stretching her back. “The longer she lasts, the longer you’ll be tempted to stay in this dank prison.”
“We are not prisoners here,” he reminded her, grabbing her arm a bit too roughly. “We can come and go as we please. These people, they do what I say. They’ll take care of us indefinitely.”
Zabrina sighed, clearly not wanting to start yet another argument. Another Vampire, older and hunkered with age, entered the room and crossed to where the reserva de sange were chained against the wall. Zabrina had never heard of anything like this before--keeping people as captives so that they could serve to feed Vampires without hunting them down night after night. The people were drained slowly and kept until they began to Resurrect as Vampires or to die. In-between feedings, they were given sustenance, an opportunity to replenish their own blood supply so that they could feed the Vampires for weeks, possibly months, before they finally succumbed to their injuries. Otherwise, the Vampires would eventually destroy them; they could never be loyal followers after having undergone these nightmarish living conditions.
The older Vampire glanced across the room at the couple as he checked the status of the blonde woman and the dark-haired man Zabrina had finished with only moments sooner. He was dressed in a long, velvety burgundy cloak, as many Vampires tended to wear here in
the ancient countries, at least when they were not out and about amongst the living. Despite his best efforts, it was obvious he was eavesdropping, and Zabrina was content to change the subject; unfortunately, her boyfriend was not.
“Listen, Zabrina, give me a few months; let me figure this out. There’s got to be a way that I can track down Cadence and get rid of her once and for all.” He was clearly frustrated, not just at her, but at the world, and he pushed himself back into his chair, slamming up against the straight back loudly.
Taking a deep breath, Zabrina formulated a response. “I just wish you would have waited...” she began, but was promptly interrupted.
“Waited for what? The only way we were getting out of the Amazon was during a time when they were distracted. And it worked, didn’t it?”
“Oh, it worked,” she replied, finally losing her cool. “Now, instead of being in a beautiful rainforest, we’re here--in this miserable hovel--just waiting for LIGHTS to make another mistake so you can go out and get yourself killed.”
“I’m not going to get myself killed!” Giovani retorted angrily. “That’s why I’m being cautious! That’s why I’m resorting to these… feeder people instead of going out and getting my own kills.”
Zabrina was shaking her head adamantly. “So you left the rainforest? So what? You aren’t even on the same continent as Cadence Findley now. What are you going to do from here?”
As Giovani began to spit out an answer, their audience member approached, cautiously. “Sire,” he said, his voice raspy. “I may have a suggestion.”
Gray eyes wide with shock at the other man’s audacity, Giovani only stared in response.
The other man cleared his throat. “Sire, are you familiar with the legend of Daunator?” He bowed his head, his hood covering much of his facial features, and waited patiently for an answer. Though he had dwelled in these parts far longer than this new Vampire, as soon as Giovani had arrived in Cesky Krumlov, it was apparent that he was no ordinary Vampire. He was a direct descendant of the ancient Vampire, Holland, one of the few remaining, and this clan immediately took him in, willing to provide him with whatever he needed in order to rebuild his forces and flourish.
Giovani glanced at Zabrina out of the corner of his eye. She simply looked bored again. “Remind me of your name,” he insisted.
“I am Nelo,” the man replied, bowing his head even lower. Then, he added, “Your servant, sire.”
“Yes, of course,” Giovani replied, only half succeeding in preventing an eye roll. “You must know I am not from these parts. Who is this Daunator you speak of, and what could he possibly do for me?”
Nelo raised his head slightly. “Sire, Daunator is also of ancient stock, much like your mother, Holland. He lives in the forest near the village of Klet. He rarely allows an audience with anyone, but for you, he may make an exception. He has dwelt here many thousand years. Perhaps, he could be of assistance with your dilemma.”
Giovani felt his rage begin to boil again. “And exactly what do you know of my dilemma?” he asked tossing his head back.
Dropping his head again, Nelo replied, “Very little, sire. I only know that you came here under cover of darkness, that you wish to be kept secreted away for now, but that a fire burns in your loins--that you seek to destroy the one who would destroy you, the one who claimed your mother and so many from your clan.” His head raised now, and he dared to look Giovani in the eye. “Perhaps, the great Daunator could be of assistance. He knows much. He is wise and powerful.”
Another quick glance at Zabrina garnished nothing; she still looked uninterested. Giovani’s anger began to fester towards her and her incessant need to always get her way. Shaking his head in disbelief at her indifference, he returned his attention to the servant. “And do you know how I can locate this Daunator?”
Nelo hesitated, shrugging his shoulders. “Not exactly, sire. I can point you in the right direction, but legend says, if Daunator wants to speak to you, he shall find you. You must only make yourself… available.”
Zabrina was eyeing the servant now, evidence to Giovani that she felt threatened by the proposition. Feeling a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, he turned back to Nelo. “Thank you. That will be all.”
There was a split second of hesitancy, as if he were considering adding more, before Nelo bowed and excused himself out of the room.
As soon as he was gone, the fire in Zabrina’s eyes began to burn holes through Giovani’s skull. “You can’t be serious!” she exclaimed. “What in the world could you possibly gain by going out into the world, looking for some ancient Vampire who likely doesn’t even exist?”
“What can I gain?” Giovani repeated. “Why, everything, of course! Zabrina, this could be our chance to find a way to defeat Cadence once and for all.”
“It’s also an opportunity to be found-out and destroyed,” she reminded him. “There are Hunters and Guardians out there looking for us, you realize? Even here--even in Ceska.”
“Zabrina, please,” he began. “They’ve got nothing. No one here will be able to track me down. I’ll go during the daytime. They’ll never be expecting that. If you don’t want to go, don’t go.”
“I don’t want to go!”
“Then don’t go!”
“I won’t!”
“Fine,” he replied, leaning hard on the armrest opposite where she sat.
She crossed her arms, her lips pouty. She shot him a glare out of the corner of her eye, but refused to continue the discussion. She meant it this time; he would have to embark on this scheme without her.
After a few moments of silence, he said calmly, “We’ll leave in the morning.”
“Fine,” she replied. “If you’re going to get yourself killed, I may as well die with you.”
He smiled; she always did as she was told--always.
***
“My eyes are seriously starting to burn,” Lucy Burk complained, rubbing both eyes with her fists. “I don’t know how much longer I can stare at this grainy footage.”
“Take a break,” Cassidy suggested, tossing a pillow at her friend’s head. “We aren’t going to be any use to anyone blind.”
“I’ve been taking a break for the last fifteen minutes,” Emma O’Sullivan admitted, “and I still can’t see straight.”
This comment caused the pillow to come shooting over in her general direction, but she tipped her crown of brown hair out of the way just in time. The girls were sprawled out on Cassidy’s bed, each armed with a laptop, pouring through footage from major airports looking for anyone who remotely resembled Giovani and/or Zabrina. So far, their efforts had only produced a sighting of Dominic Monaghan and a man with long hair who looked suspiciously like Zabrina--from the back--when Emma didn’t have her glasses on.
“Look, the guy’s not stupid, right?” Lucy rationalized, spinning to face her friends, her long blond ponytail whipping around as she did so. “We’ve already checked all of the major airports, all of the major airlines. Maybe he took a private plane. Wouldn’t that make more sense?”
Cassidy shrugged. “Sure it would, but most people who fly in private planes don’t ever come inside the airport. They wouldn’t be on the security cameras.”
“Maybe not those security cameras,” Emma agreed, “but the tarmac is still under surveillance. Didn’t Christian give us that footage, too?”
“I guess so,” Cassidy admitted as she pulled up the original files on her MacBook. After a few minutes of searching, she found an entire set of files labeled, “Exterior Cameras.” She unzipped the file, and then opened the first video. “This one is from London Heathrow,” she explained as the other two looked over her shoulder. Sure enough, they had a clear view of the tarmac and could even see a small plane deboarding in the background.
“Let’s take a look at those files,” Lucy suggested. “And let’s not start with the big airports; that seems too obvious.”
“Okay. What do you suggest?” Cassidy asked as she
shared the files with her friends.
“We could just go through in alphabetical order and skip any airport in a major city,” Emma explained.
“Sounds good. Should we start in Austria, then, since Cadence thinks he’s in Europe?”
“Yep,” Lucy agreed. “I’ll take Vienna.”
“I’ll take Salzburg,” Cassidy said.
“I’ll try Linz,” Emma replied thoughtfully. “It’s pretty close to the Czech Republic, too. Kill two birds with one stone.”
“Or two Vampire bats,” Cassidy muttered under her breath. “Good luck, ladies!”
It seemed as if they had been searching for hours with not even a glimpse of a couple who fit the description of Giovani and Zabrina, when suddenly Emma sat up straight. “You guys,” she said, frantically hitting Lucy’s leg beside her, “what did Cadence say the first letters of a plane out of Brazil would be?”
“She said to keep an eye out for anything that started with PP,” Cassidy reminded her.
Emma was nodding slowly. “Take a look at this…” she said pivoting her laptop around so the other two could see.
“What am I looking at?” Lucy asked, shaking her head and rubbing her eyes yet again.
Pointing to the far back corner of the screen, Emma said, “It’s hard to see, but there’s a small plane back her, and you can clearly see the PP, though I can’t tell what the rest of it says.”
“Okay…” Cassidy said slowly. “And?”
“And then watch this,” Emma continued. The footage continued to play, and a few seconds later, a couple stepped out of the back of the plane. For a split second, the man turned so that his face could be picked up by the camera before a baggage handler blocked the view.
“Shut up!” Lucy screamed, covering her mouth. “I have goose bumps! Look at my arm! Look at it!”
“I think that’s him,” Emma said, much more calmly, rewinding the footage so she could look at it again. “What do you think, Cass?”
Cassidy had been staring at the video, her mouth agape, not able to speak. Finally, shaking her head to clear her thoughts she said, “I think… I’d better call my sister.”