CheckMate

by Kallysten

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  Alinar Publishing

  www.alinarpublishing.com

  Copyright ©2007 by Kallysten

  First published in 2007, 2007

  * * *

  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

  * * *

  Checkmate

  Kallysten

  Copyright © 2007 Kallysten

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form or by any means mechanical, electronic, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior written consent of the publisher, nor be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published and without a similar condition being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.

  The right of Kallysten to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by her in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published June 2005

  Second Edition June 2007

  All characters in this publication are purely fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  Edited by Maria Morpeth

  Cover by Kallysten

  ISBN

  1-906023-27-1

  978-1-906023-27-0

  To Zoë,

  for her patient help,

  unwavering support

  and incredible enthusiasm

  Prologue

  It would be their first big battle since he and Peter had graduated from the academy and taken Don as their resident wizard, and Vincent could feel his heart ready to break free of his chest from the excitement.

  They had been tracking the vampire clan for several weeks, gathering as much information as they could and preparing for what promised to be their break-through moment. As Special Enforcers, they were paid by the number of vampires they killed each night, but they knew they had to make a name for themselves if they wanted the police to call them rather than other Enforcers when confronted with a nest of vamps.

  The previous night, they had finally obtained a location for the clan's lair—the catacombs on the east of Haventown. They had spent the day coming up with a plan, finding a map of the catacombs, devising a way for Don to guide them through the maze from a distance, readying their weapons. Now, it was about to start.

  Don's light winked into existence in front of them and immediately plunged through the entrance. Peter followed, and then Vincent, each of them carrying a stake in one hand and a crossbow in the other with more weapons hidden on their bodies. Don was in a van parked a couple of streets away, his eyes on the map as he chanted his spell to guide the light through the labyrinth-like tunnels.

  The light was strong enough that they could see a few feet in front of them, but as the narrow tunnels turned and branched, it didn't really help much. It wouldn't take long, from what they had figured out, before they got there. A few minutes to the central room, and there the two of them would fight and kill the twelve to fifteen vampires that constituted Nathanael's clan—according to the information they had gathered from a nicely talkative vamp. It was more than they had ever fought at once, but they would have the advantage of surprise, and they had trained hard for this. The vampire at the head of the clan was famous amongst Special Enforcers, almost a legend for having eluded all attempts to kill him. It would be the most wonderful start for Vincent and his friends. They couldn't have dreamed of a better way to make their names known.

  Their adventure had begun almost two years earlier, during senior year in high school, when Vincent had first confided to Don that he intended to enroll in the academy after graduation. He had never explained why, but he knew Don had guessed Vincent's decision was linked to his mother's death. Don had been excited for him, and had instantly offered his services as wizard. A few months younger than Vincent, he had only just begun learning how to use his talent, but by the time Vincent had graduated from the academy and talked Peter into working with them, he had been an excellent—and licensed—magic practitioner.

  "We're close,” Peter whispered, turning back to Vincent for a second when the light blinked twice, the signal that they were approaching. They usually communicated with Don through cell phones during their missions, but the signal was too poor under ground. “Ready?"

  Vincent nodded and grinned, getting a smile back in return. All their training at the academy, all their real-life but low profile fights from the past five months had led them to this precise instant, when they entered the lair and ... found an empty cave like room.

  Or rather, almost empty.

  "You kids took your sweet time. I was beginning to think you wouldn't show."

  The woman's voice sounded bored, but also tinted with amusement. Both Peter and Vincent followed the sound to face her. She was leaning against the bare rock that formed the far side wall, her arms crossed over her chest. She pushed herself away from the wall as Vincent moved into fighting position, to the side and two steps behind Peter, and she stepped toward them, blatantly ignoring the two crossbows pointed at her. Of medium height, she was slim but the tight leather pants and fitted shirt she wore revealed more than they hid her body. The heels of her boots clicked on the stone ground as she approached. She had tied back her dark hair, away from her face. She would have been a beautiful woman, if she hadn't been a vampire.

  "You two are new to the game, obviously,” she began speaking again, when she stopped a few yards from them. “See, if you ask questions about Nathanael to every vamp you meet, he's going to hear about it. And how long do you think it'll take him to get annoyed?"

  "Why should we care?” Peter shot, holding his crossbow steady as he took a step toward her. “Tell us where he is."

  "You should care,” she replied, nonplussed, “because I don't like him annoyed. My Sire can be a right bastard when he is, so I do my best to make sure he stays happy."

  When she said ‘Sire', something clicked in Vincent's mind and he remembered some of the extra information he had discovered about Nathanael's vampire family, and recognized the woman from a portrait he had seen in a book.

  "That's Hélène de Saint Simon,” he informed Peter urgently. “She's a strong—"

  Before he knew what was happening, the vampire was in motion, faster than any opponent he had fought before. With one kick of her foot, his crossbow went flying through the room. He barely had the time to see the short blade in her right hand; then it slashed in his direction, twice, and pain erupted along Vincent's cheek where she had cut him. The stake he had held clattered to the floor as he cried out and brought his hand to the cut, finding his face covered in blood already.

  "My name,” she said coolly, stepping back, “is Lilia. You'd do well to remember it during the five minutes you have left to live."

  After a quick look at Vincent to make sure he would be all right, Peter shot an arrow at the woman, but she effortlessly evaded it. Abandoning the crossbow, Peter lunged forward and attacked with a stake in both hands. Vincent watched them, one hand still pressed to his face, the other grasping at his belt to find another stake that he clutched hard, waiting for the right moment to jump into the fight and help Peter. It was all going so fast though; it was hard to intervene without risking hurting his friend. The fight seemed fairly balanced, except for the fact that Peter never came close to being able to touch her.

  Just as Vincent was about to finally step in, Don's light wavered and then vanished altogether,
throwing the room into total darkness. Vincent's training kicked in and he concentrated on the sounds echoing in the room, but the noise of his own blood thundering in his ears drowned out everything else. There were some shuffling feet in front of him on the right, where Peter had been, but no other sound until the light finally returned and he shouted.

  In front of him, Lilia was cradling Peter's body to her, her mouth to his jugular, a trail of blood sliding past her lips. Judging by the angle of his head and the blank look in his eyes, Peter was already dead. She licked her lips as she let him go and he fell to the ground like an oversized rag doll.

  With a yell, Vincent ran at her, stake ready and his bloody hand closed in a tight fist. She avoided his attack easily, and even laughed when he tried and failed again.

  "Tell you what, kiddie,” she snickered, pulling back. “Learn how to fight, and then we'll do that again when you've got half a chance of even touching me. Right now, it would be too easy to kill you. It wouldn't even amuse me."

  "Don't you dare walk away!” Vincent shouted, starting after her. “Come back and fight, you ... you..."

  His voice failed him as he reached the tunnel entrance through which she had just disappeared. The ball of light couldn't reach that far and it remained stationary in the center of the room. If he followed her, he would be blind. As Peter had been when she had killed him.

  Coming back to where his friend lay, Vincent wiped blood and tears from his face with the back of his hand, barely aware of the still-throbbing pain in his cheek. Falling to his knees by Peter's side, he reached out with a trembling hand and gently closed his friend's eyes, quietly promising that he would avenge his death and kill Lilia.

  Chapter 1

  "Be sure to wait for my signal, OK?"

  Don didn't seem very convinced. “Are you sure this is a good idea? If it doesn't work..."

  "Are you telling me you can't do it?” Vincent cut in. They had had this conversation before, and he trusted Don's abilities. Don's hesitation was what made him wary.

  "I can do it, I'm just not sure it's a good plan. You'll have to fend off the vamp from the moment you send the signal to the moment the spell takes effect, and it's going to be dangerous."

  Suppressing a sigh, Vincent tried to keep his voice even as he replied. Once upon a time, Don had been as excited about practicing magic as Vincent himself was about staking vamps; things had changed, and one of these days Vincent would need to accept it and let his friend pull back as he had wanted to for so long. It would be a pity, because Don was great at what he did; his spells had helped Vincent out of a number of tight situations over the years. Vincent didn't know where he would find someone to replace him when he finally let his friend quit.

  "I've been fighting vamps for seven years, Don. I'll be able to keep one at bay until it becomes friendlier. As long as you do the spell, everything will be fine."

  With a slight shake of his head, Don sat down on the floor of the van, a book in front of him, his bag of supplies on his right, his cell phone on the left.

  "Go ahead, then. The faster we're done here, the faster I can go home. Jeanie must be waiting for me by now. You've got the crystal?"

  Patting his pocket, Vincent nodded. “Everything will be fine,” he repeated, then stepped out and closed the back door. As soon as he had let go of the door's handle, the entire vehicle shimmered with the standard protection spell. To anyone passing by, the already unremarkable van would look totally innocuous and unworthy of interest, so that nothing would distract Don when he started the spell. It had happened, once, seven years before, a few months after they had started working together. At the time, Don didn't systematically charm the van before an operation. A random thief had tried to steal the vehicle, startling Don enough that he had thrown the wrong ingredient into the wooden salad bowl he insisted on calling his ‘cauldron'. As a result, the guiding light that had been helping Vincent and their partner fight inside the catacombs had winked out of existence; they had lost Peter that night. Don had been blaming himself ever since, and his love of magic had disappeared. The only reason he still helped Vincent was his guilt over Peter's death, and his fear that not helping would result in Vincent's death, too.

  Firmly putting past tragedies out of his mind, Vincent instinctively ran his fingers over the lining of his jacket, checking by touch that the stakes, cross and vials of holy water were all in place in their loops and easily accessible. At the academy, he had learned to use crossbows and blades too, but with practice he had come to realize that the simpler weapons worked best for him. The short leather jacket he wore concealed his entire arsenal as he strode through the cemetery, giving him, at first sight, a non-threatening appearance, but it never slowed his hand when he needed to reach for one of the weapons. Years of experience had made sure of that.

  The same experience now guided him through the graveyard, as silent as the creature he hunted, a shadow melding into the night around him from his heavy boots to his black hair. The only reason he wasn't mistaken for a vampire himself was his skin, a shade lighter than aged bronze, a gift of genetics that the many hours he spent indoors during the day did nothing to lighten.

  The cemetery was the oldest in town, and tended to perfection. The grass was cut regularly, the centennial trees trimmed, their dead wood and fallen leaves removed, the tombstones aligned in perfect rows.

  He found the grave he was looking for easily enough; he had been there earlier in the day, an anonymous mourner amongst many others. The kid had been well liked, a freshman athlete at the local college, often partying but never in trouble. The police thought that he had accidentally allowed a vampire inside his home during one of these parties. Vincent had another theory, based on the fact that the kid's extended family had counted seven powerful mages, wizards and seers in the past half-century, but he had no proof. At least, not yet. If all went well, he would have all the information he needed before the end of the night.

  The ground at the foot of the elaborate tombstone was undisturbed, and Vincent had made sure it would remain so. The kid's body had needed to be intact for the viewing and funeral, the bite marks carefully camouflaged, but after that ... Funeral directors understood the necessities of Vincent's job even when families couldn't. He couldn't stake a vampire before having proof that it killed humans to feed, but the law remained undefined on the taking of steps to prevent a new vampire from rising. He only exploited the gray areas of his job when he had reasons to think a new vampire would join a group of killers, though. In this case, he had had good reasons.

  All he needed to do now was to wait. And unless he was completely mistaken, Nathanael's lackey would soon be there. Part of him hoped it would be Lilia; he still owed her for that scar across his cheek. And for Peter.

  * * * *

  Don hated waiting like this, hated not knowing what was happening on the field. He was certain, deep down, that Vincent knew what he was doing. They had both come a long way since their first mistake and its deadly results. But the fear was always there that something could go wrong, terribly wrong out there, and Don wouldn't know it until it was too late.

  It was the first time he would do this particular spell, but he had memorized the ingredients, quantities and words he would need for it. His nervousness however demanded that he refresh his memory one last time. Opening the book in front of him, he quietly read the instructions, pulling the jars out of his bag as he did so, and aligning them neatly in the order he would need them.

  His cell phone rang and he nearly jumped; he hadn't expected the call to be so soon. Had Vincent encountered trouble? Was it...

  A cursory glance at the phone screen as he reached for the first ingredient made him pause; the number wasn't Vincent's, it was Jeanie's. With a small frown, he picked up the phone.

  "Hi honey. I can't talk to you right..."

  She didn't let him finish. “And when can you talk to me? Do I have to make an appointment? I thought I had, for that matter."

  His ey
es widening, he stifled a growl. She had indeed mentioned in the morning that she wanted to talk about something important that night, but it had skipped his mind when Vincent dropped by the bookstore Don owned.

  "I didn't forget, I prom—"

  "Then why did I come home to find a message on the answering machine saying you had to go out on a work gig with Vincent?"

  The way her voice quivered on the last word, Don could tell that it would be another one of those talks, and she would try to convince him yet again that he ought to stop working with his friend. He knew her arguments already, he had heard them many times, and had even used them himself while trying to talk Vincent into finding another wizard to help him. He had a business to run, and being called at all hours of the day or night didn't help; he didn't practice magic regularly enough to be completely ready at a moment's notice; he had stopped enjoying the art years before. All of it, though, paled in front of one simple fact.

  "Vincent is the only real friend I ever had,” he said, calm but strong. “I made a promise to him when he decided to become an Enforcer and I can't let him down. Especially not now. I will make it up to you, Jeanie, I swear."

  The cell phone chose that moment to beep, indicating that another call was on the line, and this time the number showed that it was Vincent calling. Giving his signal.

  Grimacing, Don grabbed the cauldron with his free hand and put it in front of him before reaching for the first jar.

  "Love, I've got to go now,” he said as gently as he could. “We can talk about this later, all right?"

  For a moment, only silence answered him, and Don paused what he was doing, listening more intently.

  "Jeanie?"

  "I'm sorry,” she said at last. “I didn't call to talk about Vincent. I want to talk about us. I love you."

  Don smiled despite himself. “Love you too, sweetie. And we can talk about it later, whatever it is, I promise. Just let me finish here, OK?"