The Blood Born Tales (Book 1): Blood Collector

by T. C. Elofson

  I wrapped my long arms around her small frame again and looked down into eyes I would have sworn loved me back. Then they closed and I kissed her once more, softly at first and then with a passion I had only read about.

  I did not realize it, but the two of us had stayed there wrapped in each other’s arms for some time. She was a remarkable woman and held onto me silently, patiently, while I took in every sight of the canal. At that hour, clouds were piled up on top of one another as if they overlapped each other in a romantic embrace. And I thought to myself that the gods were on my side for once.

  We stood at the edge of the Rialto Bridge. It was a beautiful structure that had stood in this place since the 15th century.

  “There has been a bridge across this part of Italia going as far back as 1181,” she stated and looked out over the water. “I remember when the construction first started. But then, in the Bajamonte Tiepolo revolt of 1310, the old wooden bridge was irretrievably damaged and then later it collapsed in a boat parade. I was not around for the boat parade but word did reach me in Roma, where I lived in the late 1400s.”

  It was fascinating to hear Fabiana’s version of history, told with such artistic illustration. The bridge sat above the water looking over everyone like a protective parent—always there, always watching, beautiful and loving. Even with everything going on, I was at peace.

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  Chapter 50

  7:00 p.m., November 25th

  Handcuffs clanged together as Kenny inserted a key and they clicked free. Jack rubbed his wrist with his fingers; the cuffs had scraped and bruised his flesh when Kenny aggressively had slapped the cuffs on him an hour ago.

  It was seven o’clock in Seattle and the engine roared to life in Kenny’s car. The old Ford Mustang with the white stripe rumbled down the darkened streets of Freemont. Kenny pulled out his gun and checked it as they sat at a stoplight. He was not really sure what was going on. He ran the few minutes of what he had seen over and over again in his mind. The image was fleeting, leaving a ghostly trail in his mind, but something was wrong with it. Nothing made any sense to him, even after everything he had realized today. He put his Glock aside and stretched the stiff muscles in his neck. Night had come and Tim had still not answered his phone. Something was very wrong and Kenny knew it.

  Kenny was someone that was extremely aware of people’s individual moods and sensitivities. That is what made him such a good cop—the ability to read people and surroundings. Jack was no different to him. From their very first meeting, Kenny knew that Jack needed to control everyone and everything around him. It was easy to tell that Jack thought he was superior to everyone. That’s why he had joined the FBI. In situations such as this, when Kenny had to trust someone he really had no reason to trust, Kenny was utterly impervious to formal status cues—indicators like breathing and speech patterns. No matter what Jack was going to say and do, Kenny was never going to trust him completely. Now surrounded by disbelief and mistrust, Kenny had no where he could turn other than Jack, a fact that he was obviously not happy with.

  Kenny roared the car forward once again and the black ‘69 Mustang rocketed down the wet street.

  “Where are we going?” Jack questioned from the back seat.

  There was a long pause. At first he thought Kenny had not heard his question, but he knew from the reflection of Kenny’s face in the rearview mirror that his expression was not one of confidence. Kenny was worried about something. Jack spun around in his leather seat and looked out the window. A rundown, rusted yellow minivan was racing up on them.

  “Detective, you need to give me my firearm. This is going to get bad.”

  “What? No!” Kenny said, shocked that he would even ask for his gun after what Jack had done.

  “The van, Detective! They’re after us. Now let me help you. I’m a cop just like you. Now give me my gun!” Jack demanded.

  “Fine,” Kenny said as he reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a Heckler & Koch 9-mm handgun and tossed it into the back. Jack grabbed it up, pulled back the slide and, with a click click, he chambered a round. Kenny knew that if things were about to get as bad as he thought they were, he would need back up, even if that back up was someone he didn’t completely trust.

  “Don’t fire until we’re clear.” Jack told Kenny.

  The van was speeding closer and closer now and the side door of the van slid open, exposing the predatory disposition of the occupants. Several vampires stared out the doorway of the van as they rocketed down the road. Kenny threw the car into gear and, with gas flooding into the engine, the car raced forward. Its tires squealing and struggling to hang onto the wet pavement, the Mustang whipped around corners and headed up a steep hill, the powerful torque pulling the car up the incline with ease. The struggling van slowed as it made its way up the hill and Kenny raced towards an overpass.

  With a hard push of the brake, Kenny swung the car around and came to a stop in front of the famous giant troll statue that had sat under north end of the Aurora Bridge for about fifteen years. It was a dead end, but Kenny knew that this was the spot he wanted.

  He had never liked drawn-out car chases—they were never as glamorous as they are in the movies—and this area had the least potential for possible casualties.

  Kenny and Jack tumbled out of the car in a military type roll and came up firing. With the first pull of Kenny’s trigger, the firing pin met powder and flame. Creating a mighty blast of gunpowder and gas, one 9-mm round after another was propelled forward in a massive swirl of destruction. Kenny knelt on one side of his car while Jack crouched on the other, firing simultaneous rounds at the pursuing van. Glass and steel structures were instantly mutilated as rounds ate through them in a quick, devastating display. Smoke and steam poured from the grill of the old van as it halted just in front of the two men. Kenny watched as vampires jumped out of the heap, one after another, and stood before him. Small pools of blood soaked their shirts, proof of the gunshots they had received.

  Kenny prided himself on his ability to adapt to any situation and now he was faced with a new one. He was fast experiencing a first for him. He had no idea what he should do and at that moment Jack moved close to him. The group of vampires had taken up positions around them.

  “They will rush us and then feed off of our blood,” Jack was saying. “Our rounds will not stop them, but I suggest aiming low at the knees. It might slow them down a bit.”

  At that, Kenny and Jack pushed in new clips and open fired once more. Blooms of smoke and gas blasted from the barrels of their guns as the vampires came closer to them. Bullets tore through flesh and bone, blood sprayed out in a mist of crimson. Several vampires dropped to their knees, crying out in pain. Then Jack pulled out a wooden stake from his pocket and ran at one of the vampires. He plunged it into the closest man’s chest but it did little good. As the vampire fell to his knees, two other vampires were on Jack before he could react. In a swarm of charging blood suckers, Kenny and Jack were overrun.

  “I’m sorry, Detective,” Jack was able to say as several immortals jumped on top of him. Kenny was on his back, struggling against the might of an elegant, thin blond woman. She was remarkably strong and was quickly overpowering him. The pain of her teeth was shocking to him—they pierced his flesh smoothly but the pain was intense. Then his blood was leaving his body. His eyes blurred and the last thing he saw was Jack’s blood. It sprayed out like a fountain and the vampires were lapping at it like hungry dogs.

  Kenny could hear soft voices again and looked forward toward the ground. It was moving under him at an incredible rate. He was slumped over the shoulder of a man who was carrying him into the darkened woods. The light of the moon was just barely breaking through the darkness of the trees. Silhouettes of hunched-over vegetation filled the skyline against the thin blue and black of the night. He had no idea how long he had been out since he had seen Jack fall to the predators. Kenny’s eyes darted around and then he saw him. Jack was being carried just as Kenn
y was. He was bleeding but Jack seemed to be alive; his eyes were open and he stared at Kenny. Jack was held up by a single arm of a man. The man’s grip must have been powerful to hold his weight with such ease. Jack was a good two hundred pounds and the man walked through the woods holding him as if he were nothing more than a feather.

  Kenny didn’t understand at all. If they were vampires, why didn’t they just kill him? Isn’t that what they do? All his confusion was not resolved when he realized that he had been taken for some purpose.

  Is this what happened to Tim? Kenny thought.

  Was Tim taken just as he was? Kenny winced as they came close to the door hidden by mounds of earth. The wooden door swung free and pushed backed the huge falls of vines and blackberry bushes that covered the entryway. A soft red and orange light flooded out into the darkness. Shadows assaulted the trees as vampire after vampire made their way into the hidden hideout of The Origin of Blood.

  Kenny glanced at Jack. He seemed perfectly still, not blinking or turning away from the cold stones of the candlelit hallway. The vampires’ footfalls echoed loudly as they were taken deep underground where no one would find them. Ever.

  Kenny finally knew it. He was going to die.

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  Chapter 51

  4:20 a.m. in Italy, November 26th

  Fabiana was indeed giving Tim a most winning smile, being careful not to expose her teeth. She walked with him on the canal, enjoying the last hour of the night. He had a wonderful way of walking, she noted. Not a strut, not a swagger, yet his stride had all the confidence of both. Fabiana had to admit it was a pleasure to watch him, the masculinity of his simple movements. She mused to herself that Tim was a composite of all the best parts of the male form, like the great Hector of Troy.

  Yes. He was a good example of a modern day man—the long, muscular arms showing out of his loose-fitting T-shirt, the worn jeans that had obviously been his favorite pair, and boots that had walked countless city blocks of Seattle. But most apparent to Fabiana was the look of Tim’s face. The almost mythically handsome face—as if he had been molded by the gods themselves.

  Most men dealing with the mental turmoil that Tim was could not exude such an aura of success and confidence.

  Suddenly the images were coming to her.

  Her mind was working over what she had seen. Kenny and Jack had been taken by the other vampires. Soon they would be dead. Or worse, turned by the blood of Cognatus.

  But she tried to remind herself—Tim was her only responsibility. To hell with the others. Tim was what mattered to her.

  In the back of her mind, she was fighting with herself though. Her conscience was not making it easy for her to turn her back on Kenny. Kenny meant a great deal to Tim and she was well aware of that fact. She didn’t have to read his mind to see what the two meant to each other. They had been close friends for over twenty years. They had fought together and fought for one another. Tim would not want it to end like this and that thought was eating at her.

  Fabiana felt her stomach twist with each moment that she was not telling him. Her head pounded and she felt awful, but she insisted on being quiet. She was the only one with the knowledge of Kenny’s turmoil and she wanted it to stay that way.

  Tim sat peacefully looking out over the water and a soft wind had picked up. He closed his eyes and the breeze blew over his face. A smile was slowly painted across his face and she dipped into his mind.

  It seemed a comfortable place for Fabiana. She liked him and his thoughts were usually quite calming to her. But not this time. His face may have been one of peace and contentment but his mind was quickly moving through images. Things were now happening very fast. Tim had concerns other than Italy. He wanted to get back to Kenny and he worried about him, about his safety. Vampires were in his city and the killing was getting personal. What about his daughter? Would she be next?

  Fabiana pulled away, out of his mind, and turned her thoughts back to The States. Her mind flooded over the land, searching the thoughts of blood collectors everywhere. She could feel no intent to take the child of Tim Anderson. If she had, she would have moved to stop it at once.

  Fabiana also knew that Tim had worked nonstop on this case and that his mind was quickly reaching its end. Soon he would suffer some sort of breakdown. However she knew she had been right to bring him here. She had given him some comfort at least, even if only for a few hours. She wondered what they would have done to Tim. Would it have been death or would he have been changed? That was the last thing she wanted now.

  She saw the grief in him for an instant. His face contorted, only for a moment, as if Tim was fighting himself. Now he had control again. She didn’t need to dip into his mind to know his emotion; he wore it like a badge for her to see. It could have been so nice for them here, but not now. Not after what was happening in Washington. Not after his friend was in peril.

  Companions, trustworthy friends, were so very important to both of them. They were so very much the same, Tim and Fabiana. But her life was so empty while his was not. She couldn’t be greedy with his existence, his humanity. Life was so empty when you were alone. She knew that better than anyone.

  Fabiana closed her eyes and could feel the morning approaching. Soon they would have to leave. They would have to go back to the other side of the world where the night would continue. She knew that she would have to take Tim home.

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  Chapter 52

  9:40 p.m., November 25th

  Kenny felt scared to death.

  He had had his share of near-death experiences, but Kenny knew this was something that he would never really get used to.

  He knew courage would come to him again. “Once more into the breach” and all that. Kenny could handle facing death. He’d escaped it time and time again, never once crossing over to that unexplained knowledge, that mysterious nonexistence. But still death chased him down. No matter how many times he avoided peril, it seemed determined to always find him. Now Kenny was sure it had.

  His stomach jumped into his throat and he tasted bile. The wind screamed outside somewhere and his ears and face felt hot as if all the blood was rushing to his head. The air was cold and he was instantly chilled and shivering. Suddenly he realized something. He was hanging upside down by his feet. He remembered one of the victims, the woman, had shown signs of hanging by her feet.

  Is this what had happened to her?

  For a terrible moment he stopped breathing and his mind would not work. There was a deathly and silent riffling of wind through an open doorway. Darkness and the creaking of rotting wood giving way under the weight of the earth surrounded him. Things went on that way for a long while. It got to where Kenny hoped and wished for something to happen. For everything to just be over.

  Kenny hung there by his feet and the pain returned to him once more. Steel shackles cut into his flesh and the weight of his body pulled against the metal. His arms dragged on the dirt floor of the room illuminated by candle flames. A thick grey haze sat overhead like the morning fog, thick and daunting, refusing to give into clarity.

  Suddenly he heard something. It was the sound of someone breathing and it was close. Kenny’s eyes darted from one side of the room to the other, and there, in the far corner of the room, Jack hung by a rusted chain. His legs were covered in dried blood. It streaked and stained the fabric of his clothes in big strokes of black and red. Kenny was relieved at the sight of Jack. He was still alive.

  Too much time has passed, Kenny thought.

  How long had he been out? Obviously Tim was not going to come for him. His life now depended on him and Jack to get free. But how could they? He knew it would not happen. Some part of him knew. Kenny was motionless, his powers of imagination switched off. The soldier, the cop, and the thinker in him—he now wore them all like a suit. He would escape somehow. His thoughts were precise and clearly formed and yet he was sick inside as he tried to block the harrowing images: the black stains on the walls of his mind, the blo
od he saw everywhere he looked.

  He clutched the cold dirt in his fingers. A small tight bundle of wood sat just out of reach. If he could get to it, would it be sturdy enough to pierce the flesh of a vampire? Kenny wondered. His mind was screaming. The blood pumped into his brain which felt as if it was going to explode. His head thumped with the pain of a migraine. He could feel the rapid pounding of his heart in the tissue of his brain. His eyes were on fire and more bloodshot with every beat of his pulse. Kenny imagined the blood drinkers could hear the throbbing of his heart, just like in the movies that he had seen as a kid in the old theater on Lake City Way.

  “Yes, I can hear your heart,” a voice said from the darkness.

  Kenny could not see who it was. Then a man appeared through a wooden doorway behind him. The wood creaked as the man entered and bits of dirt fell from the ceiling that was overgrown with vegetation and insects. He was a tall, thin man with a well-defined body and long, curly brown hair. The clothes he wore seemed to be very out of date with their ruffled cuffs and long dress coat, just like something out of a Renaissance fair.

  “Please don’t struggle too much. This house is old and we don’t want you bringing it down on top of us,” the man said as he directed his attention to the ceiling. “I am Cerci, the High Priest of The Origin of Blood.”

  “Origin of Blood?” Kenny asked.

  “Yes, The Origin of Blood. We are a clan of vampires and I can read what you are thinking, my boy. We are real. Not like that clan of humans that you came across yesterday in Pike Place Market. The ones led by that stupid vampire that Fabiana destroyed. We are the oldest of our kind. And then, there is The Origin,” Cerci said as he pointed to the floor just feet from Kenny.