“I’ll let her explain when she arrives.” Walker stood to leave. “You get some rest. Tomorrow I’ll rent a room for you.”
“Why can’t I go back to the coven?”
“The humans discovered it, so we have to abandon it. We got you out just in time.”
“Did you save me to help rebuild the coven, or to give Chiang Shih the chance to kill me herself?”
Walker paused. For a second, Toni thought she detected an uncharacteristic sympathy in his eyes. “I honestly don’t know. Chiang Shih is very fond of you. But you and Ion ran this coven poorly. Too much exposure. Too many mistakes. And you allowed the coven to be wiped out. She’s not happy.”
“And when Chiang Shih’s not happy, no one is happy.”
Walker nodded in agreement. “Get some rest. You’ll need it once Chiang Shih gets here.”
“When’s that?”
“In two or three days.” Walker left without saying another word, turning off the lights and closing the door behind him.
Toni leaned back and rested her head on the pillows. It had been a long time since she lived in such comfort. Ion had foresworn to live like humans, condemning the coven to sewers and decrepit buildings. It was part of his mental deterioration, but her affection for him blinded her to that. By the time she had realized Ion had lost grip on reality, she had forgotten about such luxuries.
A bright glow seeped around the outer edges of the room’s black-out curtains. Daylight. She could only stay indoors and sleep, which she desperately needed. Rolling over with her back to the windows, Toni closed her eyes and dozed.
Hopefully, things would look better in the evening.
* * *
The elevator door to Drake’s apartment building closed. Drake pressed the button marked 13. With a slight jolt, the elevator began its rise. As it passed the third floor, Jessica leaned into Drake and slid her arm around his.
“This is a first,” she said.
“What is?”
“You realize this is the first time we’ve been together when we haven’t either been talking about or fighting vampires?”
“I guess it is.” Drake placed his hand on Jessica’s arm. “You must find it boring.”
“It’s nice.” Jessica wrapped her other arm around Drake’s and leaned her head against his shoulder.
The elevator stopped on the thirteenth floor. As the doors slid open, Drake escorted Jessica down the hall. When they reached his apartment, he reached into his pocket for the keys and unlocked the door. Jessica let go of his arm and leaned back against the door jamb, flashing him a smile part seductress.
“So, why did you bring me back to your apartment?”
“I wanted you to meet someone.”
“Who?”
“You’ll see.” Drake pushed open the door and ushered Jessica inside.
Drake had a nice apartment. It looked big, probably a three bedroom, modestly furnished and surprisingly neat for a single guy. Much nicer than my own place, thought Jessica. But then, she could live like this, too, if she had an anonymous benefactor paying the bills.
“You got a nice place here.”
“Thanks. I like it. Much better than the shit hole I used to live in back in Boston.” Drake slid out of his leather jacket and hung it in the hall closet, then helped Jessica off with her coat. “I don’t get as much use out of it as van Helsing does.”
“Who’s van Helsing?”
Drake smiled. “Let me introduce you.”
He led Jessica through the living room and into a small den just off of the enclosed balcony. She never expected to see a brown-and-white lop ear rabbit sitting in a two-level cage in the middle of the floor. On seeing Drake, the rabbit excitedly raced back and forth. Drake opened the second-level door. The rabbit leaned out, extending his head and gently nudging Drake’s nose with his own. Reaching into the cage, Drake lifted out van Helsing and cradled him in his arms, supporting the rabbit in his left arm while he massaged the lop ears between the thumb and forefinger of his right hand. The rabbit lay there with his eyes closed, basking in the attention. After several seconds, Drake raised van Helsing up onto his chest and kissed him on the top of his head. When his hand went for a bag on the top of the cage, van Helsing’s ears rose up and his nose twitched in anticipation. Drake pulled a raisin from the bag and placed it between his lips. Arching his head upwards, the rabbit took the treat and began chewing.
Jessica had never seen this side of Drake. She had only seen the cynical tough guy who spent weeks dodging her questions and making her life difficult, only later to go charging into a nest to rescue her after her abduction. She had watched him feed the master that had kidnapped her through a wood chipper. Two days ago, he ignited an acetylene tank and blew up a good portion of the Washington sewer, and nearly himself, to take down a single vampire. Though outdated, the word macho fit Drake quite nicely. Yet here stood the fearless vampire hunter, cuddling his rabbit as if he were ten years old again.
Drake came over to Jessica. He turned so the rabbit faced Jessica. “This is van Helsing.”
She gently patted van Helsing’s head with her fingertips. The rabbit closed his eyes and started to click. “Is he all right?”
“Uh-huh. That means he’s happy.”
Jessica continued petting. “Is this the rabbit you saved back in Boston?”
“You know about that?”
“When I researched you I talked to one of your colleagues on the Boston Police. He mentioned it when discussing your involvement in the Night Stalker case.”
Drake cuddled van Helsing a little closer as he recalled that night. “He was the only survivor of that attack. The Night Stalker had butchered the entire family. Both parents and the two kids. They had been tortured and bled dry. When we arrived on the scene, we found this little guy hiding in his cage scared out of his wits. One of the sergeants wanted to take him to the pound, where I knew he’d be put down. I couldn’t do that to him, so I took him.”
“You don’t seem like a pet person.”
“I wasn’t. But I couldn’t let them cart him off and put him to sleep.”
“Compensation for not being able to stop the Night Stalker?” Jessica hoped the question did not rub any raw nerves.
“Partly. And partly because I don’t think anything should die alone.” Drake bent over and kissed van Helsing on the head. The rabbit looked up and nudged Drake on the nose. Drake placed van Helsing on the floor and gave him a gentle pat on the butt. The rabbit hopped across the room. When he reached the door to the living room, he looked over his shoulder at Drake and bolted down the hallway.
“Would you like a drink?” asked Drake.
“Watcha got?”
“Not much. Bourbon, diet cola, and tap water.”
“A diet cola will be fine.”
Jessica sat on the living room sofa as Drake prepared the drinks. She crossed her legs at the ankles and pulled the hem of her skirt above her knees. Van Helsing raced through the apartment, stopping occasionally to check out some portion of a room or to scratch an itch with his hind legs. After a minute or two, he hopped over to the sofa and tentatively approached Jessica, his head outstretched, and sniffed her shoes. When she bent over to pet him, van Helsing ran away and binked into the kitchen.
Drake exited the kitchen holding a can of diet cola and a glass of ice. He placed them on the coffee table in front of Jessica. “I wasn’t sure if you wanted a glass or not.”
“This is fine. Thanks.” Jessica opened the can as Drake went to the bar and poured himself a tumbler of bourbon. “You don’t seem like the squeamish type.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your comment a few minutes ago that nothing should die alone.”
“Oh, that. It doesn’t mean I’m squeamish.” Drake came back to the sofa and sat down beside Jessica. “I’ve seen more than my fair share of death, even before I became a hunter. Unwanted newborns left in garbage cans. Junkies who ODed in back alleys. Homeless people who
died of disease or exposure. They had only one thing in common—they died alone, with no one around to comfort them in their final moments. It’s no way to die.” Drake swigged down a shot of bourbon. “It’s the only fear I have.”
“You mean dying alone?”
Drake nodded.
“Well, at the rate you’re going, you’ll die surrounded by a hoard of vampires.”
Drake faked a grimace. “That’s a comforting thought.”
“And I take it back. You’re not squeamish.” Jessica took a drink of her diet cola and flashed him a teasing smile. “You’re just sensitive.”
“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”
“Not at all.” That’s perfect, you idiot. Keep teasing him like you’re a schoolgirl with a crush, and you’ll wind up pissing him off.
“I don’t mind.”
Jessica rested her right arm on the back of the sofa and placed her hand over Drake’s. “Honestly, I don’t know how you do it.”
“Do what? Hunt the undead?”
“You put your life on the line every day.”
“It’s not too much different from being a cop, except I don’t have to fill out reams of paperwork.”
“I’m serious. I’d go nuts if I knew vampires were out to get me every night.”
Drake shrugged. “It’s not like they have a personal vendetta against me.”
“Really? What do you call that reception for us a week ago at Wolf Trap?”
“I hunt vampires. Vampires try to kill me to stay alive. It’s not personal. If I gave up this profession tomorrow and moved back to Boston, they’d leave me alone.”
“And you believe that?”
“Of course.”
Though Jessica thought Drake was naïve about the undead not having a vendetta against him, he never saw himself as heroic. His humility turned Jessica on.
“Now, is this an interview or a date?” Drake moved his hand out from under Jessica’s, placed it on top of hers, and squeezed gently. She felt a warm flush of anticipation through her skin. Jessica slid closer to Drake. As she did, van Helsing jumped into Drake’s lap and stood on his hind legs, begging for attention. Drake scooped up van Helsing in his arms. The rabbit nudged Drake on the nose.
“Sorry, about that. Van Helsing gets jealous.”
Jessica leaned closer and scratched van Helsing on the back of the head. “You know, two’s a company and three’s a crowd.”
Van Helsing leaned toward Jessica and nudged her nose.
“He likes you,” said Drake. “He just kissed you.”
“It’s sad that your rabbit has kissed me more tonight than you have.” Jessica flashed Drake a seductive look that told him exactly what was on her mind.
Drake placed van Helsing on the floor and gave him a gentle pat on the behind. When he turned back to Jessica, she had moved beside him. Reaching out, she placed a hand on each of Drake’s cheeks and lovingly drew him close. Their lips met. Jessica leaned back on the sofa, still holding Drake’s face, guiding him on top of her.
From the doorway to the den, van Helsing watched the humans, his head tilted to one side. Realizing he would not be getting any attention for a while, he headed back to his cage.
* * *
Tonight was a fucking waste of time, thought Walker. Six hours driving around western Virginia and not a single prospect. Damn, he hated it when he miscalculated. Things had changed too much in this region since he visited here during the Great Depression. What had once been the Old South, a racist haven where a black man could get into trouble for merely driving down the street, had slowly become more cosmopolitan as Washington expanded. Walker had hoped to find a pliable redneck to add to the coven as a familiar, and had driven out almost to the Blue Ridge Mountains. Instead of finding a familiar, he spent the night among scores of rubes and NASCAR fans, and not surprisingly came up empty handed. Perhaps the coven would be better off not having a familiar after all.
Despite Hollywood and reams of horror fiction, vampires rarely used familiars. As they had learned the hard way centuries ago, legions of subservient humans protecting the coven by day and doing the masters’ bidding proved more of a liability than a convenience. Yes, there were those who would willingly work for the undead, mostly for the promise of power now and immortality in the future. On occasion, they could be useful. However, since familiars were the front men for the covens, by extension they were the first to be taken when hunters discovered a coven. Then their human weaknesses and faults took over. Only a handful of familiars kept their vows of loyalty and silence. Most told the authorities everything they knew about their masters, and often led angry mobs directly to them. The toll against those covens betrayed by familiars was staggering. After the betrayal in Paris in 1792, every master decided to use a familiar only when absolutely necessary.
This, unfortunately, was one of those times.
Walker glanced at the dashboard clock on the SUV he had stolen from long-term parking at Union Station. 2:18. Because he had at least a two-hour ride to Washington, he would need to head back now if he wanted to have enough time to ditch the vehicle and make it to the hotel by dawn. His foot pushed down on the accelerator, and the SUV’s speed inched up to sixty-five miles per hour.
Things worldwide had changed quite a bit since Walker had been turned a millennium ago during the Crusades. Since then, he went by many names, sired scores of masters, and founded more covens than he could recall. He had fed off of Crusaders in the Levant. Had ravaged Europe during the Black Death. Had feasted off of a hundred and fifty years of wars and revolutions in Europe in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. And had cut a swath of destruction across the New World during the influenza pandemic of 1919. Every time a tragedy plagued mankind, Walker could be found exploiting it. Feeding off of it. Enjoying it.
It was an unusual existence for the eldest son of poor Christian farmers from the Sudan. Born over a thousand years ago with the name Shomari, he had lived a normal, mundane existence tilling his parents’ land along the Nile until captured by an Arab raiding party and sold into slavery in Cairo. Years of physical labor had made him strong and muscular, and as such commanded a good price on the auction block. The fat, sleazy Arab who purchased him had intentions other than work. Once back in his new home in Antioch, every night he would be sodomized by that sadistic beast, being forced to perform sexual acts like a woman, or having them performed on him. It was more than just a nightly assault on his body. It was an offense against his religion. An offense against his masculinity. An offense against his dignity. Adding insult to injury, his slave master gave him the name Adham, the black stallion.
The indignity lasted for three years, finally coming to an end during the siege of Antioch. Amidst the carnage and terror, he had sought out one man. Muhammad al Muhammad Abu Bakir. Rumors amongst the slave community intimated that Abu Bakir was some type of wizard, a man capable of bestowing incredible strength to whomever he deemed worthy, albeit at a price the horrors of which no one ever dared ask about. Many a slave fantasized about what he or she would do if they possessed such strength, but none had enough courage to obtain it. Yet as the city crumbled, as panic and despair replaced order, he sought out Abu Bakir and begged to be granted the strength. His got his wish and received so much more than he bargained for. Unfathomable strength. Immortality.
And the lust for revenge, the most powerful emotion.
The lights from a small gas station/convenience store attracted Walker’s attention. The place was run-down, poorly lit, and made of cinderblock walls with panes of glass set high in the structure. At first he thought it was closed because he saw no one around. Then he spotted an old Chevy Impala parked around back and a rusty pick-up truck beyond the twin gas pumps with two men standing around it. The SUV’s fuel gauge read one-quarter full, so Walker decided to fill up.
Pulling in between the pumps and the main station, Walker climbed out and filled up the tank with twenty dollars’ worth of regular. Out of the corner
of his eye, he saw the two men by the pick-up staring at him, whispering back and forth to each other. The taller one wore a baseball cap and a black T-shirt with a faded Union Jack on front. The shorter wore a blue flannel shirt and red parka vest. The finest the South had to offer. Walker wondered if they kept their white sheets and hoods in the pick-up with them.
When he finished pumping the gas, Walker went inside to pay. He had just finished handing his money to the clerk, a fat man with scraggly red hair and beard, when the two rednecks from outside entered. The taller one stood by the counter, with parka boy behind him, blocking his way out. Walker sensed trouble.
The clerk looked over at the two men. “What’s up?”
“Not much, Ned. Jus’ tryin’ to make sure the nigger don’t steal nothin’.”
The clerk leaned over the counter and stared at Walker. “Now, you wouldn’t do anything like that, would you, boy?”
Walker suppressed a grin. Tonight might not be wasted after all.
“Hey,” prompted Ned. “I’m talking to you, boy.”
“Yeah, boy. He’s talking to ya.” The taunt came from the little asshole in the red parka, the pliant one who would follow the others.
Ned stood upright and reached under the counter. He shot a glance to the taller man. “Whaddya think, Tom? He seems awfully guilty to me.”
Tom placed his left hand over his right and cracked the knuckles. “I think we ought to let him know that country folks don’t take kindly to thievin’ niggers.”
“Yeah,” chimed in parka boy.
Walker had found his familiar.
Without looking at his victims, Walker spoke slowly, his deep voice sounding ominous. “Why aren’t you home fucking your mother, Tom? The line too long?”
“Why you fuckin’ son of a bitch.” Tom raced toward Walker, his right hand drawing back for a punch.
Walker spun around to face Tom and morphed into his vampiric form. Tom faltered. Walker reached out and grabbed the back of his head and his chin. With a single, effortless twist, he turned Tom’s head around. The snapping and cracking of the human’s vertebrae muffled his cry of pain. Parka boy stared into Tom’s dying eyes and the lips that mouthed silent words. When Tom dropped lifelessly to the floor, parka boy went white with terror.
The Vampire Hunters (Book 2): Vampyrnomicon Page 7