She’s more knowledgeable than I thought. I had thought that only an adept could have such skill, and she has only been here for what? Less than a decade. Marcus thought back on his own life for just a moment. He had been centuries in the grave before he had learned to control weather like that. And even more centuries before he had tried to call up a demon on his own. Even while he was thinking about it the second, more powerful, more evil source was gone, its screams of rage following it into the abyss.
Marcus wheeled in the sky, but he could only get a general sense of direction on the power source. From the height he gained he could see that there was a fog rising from the Bay. And it had already spread far enough to obscure whatever had created it. It spread quickly before his eyes, covering square blocks within seconds as it forged into the city, topping off at about twenty feet above the ground.
The elder vampire flapped his leathery wings as he headed for a radio tower above a yacht club. As soon as his claws were heading for the service deck, a metal mesh platform a hundred feet above the ground, he triggered the transformation. His feet hit hard on the metal, and he turned toward the Bay, his arms reaching into the sky.
Marcus concentrated on the weather, using the innate power that was a natural to an ancient vampire like himself as breathing was to a mortal. He pulled the power from his core, the same power that the demon had used before at the call of the youngling. For in his centuries he had grown into a demon of Satan, and possessed some of their powers.
Lightning flashed over the bay, as dark clouds gathered into a concentrated mass. A breeze came off of the water, then strengthened into a gale force wind. Thunder followed lightning, then more thunder, as the storm clouds streamed toward the city. A rain started to fall, lightly at first, then in heavy streams that blew almost sideways in the winds.
Marcus looked down on the city as the storm blew in. Trash was blowing through the streets, and traffic on the main thoroughfares slowed from the obscuring rain. The fog dissipated as the wind blew it away and the rain drove it into the ground. Marcus raised his hands once again into the air, calling the storm away as quickly he had brought it forth. The winds died down, followed by a slackening of the rain. The cloud mass above blew apart. As Marcus watched the sky above and the first stars shine through the rents in the clouds, he used all of his senses to try to track the quarry.
Nothing. She’s already gone to ground. And he was sure he knew where she had gone to ground. Marcus willed the change to come over him, jumping into the air as a man, then flying through the air as a bat. He flapped steadily as he gained altitude, wheeling in the sky until he was headed for the Padillas house. It ends soon, he thought. One way or another. He would get her when she came out of the house. The Priest would get her while she was in the house. Or she would defeat him as she left. But one of those outcomes would happen soon, and end the chase.
* * *
“She’s here,” said O’Connor, looking over his strike team. What an ungodly crew for God’s work, he thought. He hefted his large silver crucifix in his hand, gaining comfort from the weight of the icon.
“How you know that, doc?” asked Fred, playing with his pistol in one hand while his other played with the cross hanging around his neck.
“Didn’t you think that fog was a little strange, Fred?” said Manny, looking at his cross as if he had never seen one before. Which O’Connor was sure was true after a fashion. He doubted the man had frequented one with belief for quite a while.
“Yeah,” said Fred, nodding his head. “But strange fog don’t really mean shit, does it?”
“I could feel her in the working of the Fog Magic,” said O’Connor, grimacing. “And I could feel the abomination that she called up to power the magic.”
“Magic. Vampires. What a bunch of Bullshit,” said Fred, looking askance at the priest.
“You don’t need to believe, Fred,” said Manny, grabbing the bigger man’s face in a strong grip. That Fred did not fight back was a testimony to how bad a dude Manny was. “You just need to follow the directions of the good Father here, just like the boss said we should.”
“The cross will have very little power without belief behind it,” said O’Connor, holding up his own cross. “She will still recoil from it, but in the hands of a believer it will paralyze her with fear.”
“Sorry about that, Father,” said Manny, putting his own cross in his belt and pulling a revolver out of a holster. “You get what you got. A couple of sinners trying to help out.”
“I wish you’d let me have my gun back,” said O’Connor, looking at the pistol that was loaded with the special ammo.
“Sorry, Father,” said Manny, holding up the gun in front of O’Connor’s eyes. “The boss don’t quite trust you with firearms, you know. So I’ll just hold on to this tonight.”
“Well, remember that the bullets in that gun can hurt her,” said O’Connor. “While the bullets in your other weapons will have no effect.”
“We’ll remember, Father,” said Manny. “You just watch yourself and stay out of the line of fire.”
O’Connor stared at the man for a moment, wondering if he had been threatened. Would he last longer than the vampire? Or even as long? Again he thought, a deal with the Devil sometimes meant the Devil not only took your soul, but sometimes your life as well.
“Get ready,” said Manny, hearing the squawk on the small radio at his belt. “She’s here.”
Manny grabbed the doorknob, slowly turning it. Then he suddenly threw the door open, running into the hall, the large crucifix held before him, Fred on his tail. O’Connor was caught by surprise for a second. Even though the plan was his, he was not the leader here anymore. But he made sure that he had a firm grip on the cross as he heard the shouts and screams erupt from the hallway.
* * *
Lucinda could not hear anything in the hall. For some reason her mind was still in stealth mode, even though she had come here with the intention of murdering all within the house if need be to cut the head of the snake. All except the priest that she knew was in the house. Him she needed to avoid, to somehow get around him while she killed the crime boss.
What am I waiting for? she thought. If it needs doing I need to do it now. With that thought she reached for the knob and pulled the door open, stepping boldly into the hall.
“There she is,” shouted a man toward the living room side of the hall. Lucinda could now hear several of them, along with the static hum of a noise suppression device. As she turned toward the voice, baring her fangs, she could hear a door behind her open and a couple of men run into the hall. After catching a glimpse of a man with a large cross heading cautiously toward her she turned back to the sound behind her, going into speed mode.
The two men coming from the bedroom were also holding crosses, though the one in the lead also had a revolver in one hand. They seemed to crawl toward her in slow motion, to her heightened speed. She looked back to see that a second man was coming behind the first in the living room, then turned back toward the two from the bedroom, sensing that the greater danger was coming from that direction. She looked at the revolver held by the side of one of the big men, and could feel the threat from it. Holy bullets, she thought. High velocity pellets that could hurt her badly if not kill her.
Hoping that it wouldn’t the feeling of fright began to overwhelm her. The holy symbols, even in the hands of unholy men, still stirred the terror that was instinctual to her kind. She started to back away from the ones coming down the hall, then feeling the ones from the living room coming close behind her turned that way. The symbols in their hands made her want to flee back up the hall toward the bedrooms. But that path was blocked as well.
Her instincts drove her from fear to rage, an animal rage that she couldn’t control. She spun toward the bedroom, seeing the crosses coming toward her, the man with the gun now falling back to trail the other, the pistol held pointed up in the air, ready to come down and fire in a moment.
“W
e got her,” yelled one of the men behind her. Lucinda spun that way with speed, her claws swinging in an arc that pushed the leading arm holding the cross across the man’s body. Her elongated fingernails continued on to hit the side of the man’s throat, slicing through the skin and cutting the veins below. As blood spurted from the ghastly wound she continued the strike, the nails slicing in behind the windpipe of the man. With an outward pull she took the throat out of the man, seeing his eyes go wide with shock.
The crucifix fell to the floor from nerveless hands as she reached down and grabbed the front of his shirt. A quick pull of supernaturally strong muscles swung the man in the air over her head and past her shoulder. As she spun with the throw she aimed the dying man toward the first of the men coming from the bedroom. She released the body and saw that a new danger had appeared. In the form of the priest, a large silver crucifix held before him.
He has real power, she thought, feeling the strength of the God she had denied in life pulsing from the man himself into the holy symbol. It was a power that could physically harm her, and maybe destroy her. Then the body she had flung was slamming into the leading man, the top of the dead man’s head striking the other man in the jaw, then the body come down on the now unconscious man.
Lucinda spun back the other way, hoping that the second man from the living room would be within reach. If she could take him out the way to the living room would be open and she could get away from the deadly priest that she could not bring herself to harm. But the second man hung back out of reach, his cross held in front of him. And a third man was coming up behind him, a large plastic cross in his hands.
A glance over her shoulder showed her the big man with the gun stepping over the bodies of the dead man and the unconscious target that he had taken down. The priest was beside him, moving around the pile and holding the silver cross before him, while his lips moved in prayer. She moved the only direction open to her, toward the living room, where the two thugs with crosses continued to back away.
She couldn’t think in this state of mind. She was totally running on instinct, the animal instinct to survive. She was no longer a rational creature, and didn’t think why they were moving her along the hallway. She noticed that one of the doors on her left was open, leading into a dark room that was not occupied by a cross wielding thug. But in her panic she did not reason why such a perfect escape route was left open to her.
When she got even with the room she started to angle toward it. With the little bit of reasoning ability she had left she thought of escape, even though she had planned to fight her way through whomever she needed to so the boss would die. But the room felt wrong to her as she got closer to the doorway. A wrongness that threatened to destroy her quickly and irrevocably. She looked into the room, her night vision making the darkened room as bright as day. But beside a table and a couple of chairs she could see nothing within that would seem to be able to cause her harm.
Still the room hurt her, a deep hurt right down to her soul. She felt the panic rise in her just from proximity to the chamber. She turned away, back to the men coming up the hall, from the living room, her instinct telling her to push through them no matter the fear.
“No, spawn of Satan,” said the Priest, pushing his cross toward Lucinda. She could feel the power of the holy symbol in the hands of a true believer, even more powerful than the fierce strength of the room. The cross touched her on the left shoulder. Agony lanced through her, as the sizzling of flesh came to her ears, and the smell of burning meat entered her nose.
Lucinda opened her mouth in a silent scream, the pain freezing her in place. She tried to reach over and pull the cross away as it was burning its way into her. But she pulled her hand back as it touched the cross, the tips of her fingers burned like they had contacted a strong acid.
The priest jerked the cross away as he slid more to her side. The pain kept her from reacting at any kind of speed. Before she could move the priest thrust the cross into her shoulder again, this time on the outside. Lucinda squealed, a high-pitched sound that had most of the men in the house covering their ears. But the priest ignored it as he pushed with the cross. Burning through clothes and flesh, the cross hurt her like nothing she had ever felt before, living or dead.
“Move, spawn of Satan,” yelled the priest, shoving hard with both hands on the cross. Lucinda did not want to enter the room, but what she wanted didn’t matter a bit compared to the pain that pushed her into it. Her feet slid on the carpet as the priest pushed yet again. As her body was halfway into the room she felt her muscles go weak. She fell hard the rest of the way, landing on the wooden floor of the room.
The priest backed away, one hand grabbing the doorknob and pulling the door behind him. Lucinda heard the door click shut, then the lock being engaged, as she tried to struggle up to her knees. The walls of the room beat down on her, with a numbing pain that pulsed through her bones.
What the hell is this, she thought as some reasoning ability returned. She scooted to the exact center of the room, where the painful influence lessened just a bit. She examined the room as closely as she could without leaving the center. There was a blue paint on the walls, ceiling, even over the one window in the room. It was obviously new, freshly painted on. And there was something in it, something holy that pushed her down and left her feeling beaten.
No way out, she thought, a hand going up to feel the burned areas of her left shoulder. She winced as her fingers felt the deep burned indentations that the cross had made. They will heal, though it may take more than a day.
Lucinda arranged herself on the floor in a lotus position, determined to calm her mind if not her soul. There was nothing she could do except beat herself up for falling into a trap. Not that it would do any good. And not doing any good it was not something she wanted to engage in. She closed her eyes as she repeated the mantra she had learned years ago in college, relaxing her body. Playing the waiting game that she had no choice in participating in.
* * *
“Good work, Monsignor,” said George Padillas, walking out of the safe room he had retreated to when the vampire entered the house. “She’s trapped bigger than shit. So what’s next?”
“We wait for daylight,” said O’Connor, wiping the sweat from his brow. “With luck the sunlight coming through the window will kill her, though I think the paint may make it too faint to do the job. Or we go in and destroy her while she’s helpless.”
“But she’s still dangerous now?” asked Padillas, walking past the priest to put his hand on the door.
“As dangerous as a cornered panther,” stated the priest, looking at the discolorations on the cross where it had touched the vampire. “That’s why we wait until morning. She won’t have any of her powers, and the rising of the sun will also make her lethargic, an easy target.”
“And she hasn’t fed tonight, right?”
“As far as I know, Mr. Padillas,” said O’Connor, looking intently at the man’s smiling face. “I think you were to be her dinner tonight. And we prevented that, so she will get very hungry by the end of the night. But she’ll be weak as a kitten in the morning, and no danger to any of us.”
“So by tomorrow night she would be very much hungry,” said Padillas, putting his hand back on the door. "She would not be able to control herself, yes.”
“I think that’s right,” said the priest. “But why all of these questions. In the morning she will be gone and you will be safe from her, forever.”
“That’s what I wanted to know, Monsignor,” said Padillas, looking back over his shoulder at Manny. “Now make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid,” said Padillas, gesturing toward the priest.
“What are you talking about, Padillas,” yelled O’Connor, as another of the thugs grabbed him and pushed him along the hall. He tried to dig his feet into the carpet and stop himself, but the man just grunted and pushed harder, and he was propelled down the hall. “I did what you wanted and stopped her from killing you.”
“Yes you did, Monsignor,” said Padillas with a laugh. “Just what I wanted you to do. But now I have other plans for our girl in there. Plans that you might not approve of. So I need you to be put away for just a little while, so I can do what I need to do.”
“You’re a fool Padillas,” yelled the priest as the muscle pushed him down the hall with a firm grip on the priest’s shirt. “She’ll destroy you. You don’t know what you’re playing with.”
The thug pushed O’Connor into the room the priest was using, following him in and slamming the door behind them. Another man went to the door, turned a key in the lock, and stood in front of it.
“Get rid of Marty’s body in the morning,” said Padillas to Manny, nodding at the bled out corpse on the carpet. “And clean up the mess.”
“What about the priest?” said Manny, pointing toward the Monsignor’s room.
“I might need him for a little while longer,” said Padillas, a smirk on his face. “I might have some more questions that only our vampire hunter can answer. But after I get what I want you’ll need to put him in the bay, somewhere he won’t ever be found. After all, I can’t have the man who knows it all coming after me, now can I?”
Both men laughed at the inside joke, as Padillas winked at his top man.
“Now I’m going to get some shuteye,” said Padillas. “Make sure our girl stays where we have her. And make sure the priest stays away from her.”
“Will do, boss,” said Manny, looking at the door to the room that trapped the vampire, then at the body of Marty. “I wouldn’t want her to get her hands on me. At least not till I’m ready to join you.”
Padillas nodded his head as he reached the end of the hall and pulled the door to his own bedroom open. With a wave he walked through the door and closed it behind him.
Chapter 9
Lucinda sat in the very center of the room, trying to stay calm as the hunger began to eat at her. At first the only thing on her mind was the terror that the walls and ceiling of the room held for her. She did not know what the priest had done to the paint to make it anathema to vampires. But whatever he had done he had done well.
The Hunger Page 21