“By Poseidon’s curly-fucking-beard,” she whispered. “He’s right.”
The other Nymphs, as if by some unspoken command, all launched into their dinners with gusto, trying a bit of this and a bit of that, babbling excitedly to each other through mouthfuls of meat as they did. Brian slumped back into his chair, relief surging through every fibre of his being. Even Scylla seemed to be enjoying her strips of salty, fried car tyre, giving him a thumbs up. Brian smiled at her, then caught the attention of a server walking past.
“Can we get a round of drinks in please, miss?”
“Sure, what would you like?”
“Anything,” he told her. “Just make sure it’s got some alcohol in it.”
Chapter Eighteen:
Old Faces, New Friends
It was far later in the afternoon, getting on almost for evening now, as Brian and Scylla strolled along the prom. The other girls were tottering on up ahead, eating trays of chips, with saveloys, kebab meat, battered sausages and lashings of salt and vinegar. The thought of man-flesh now well and truly dashed from their minds, they were on a crusade to eat everything devised by the people they once thought of as cattle, starting it seemed, with the very basics. If they kept up their voracious appetite, Brian thought, they might end up getting fat. The idea of a round Water Nymph seemed strangely amusing.
Scylla seemed almost melancholy as the pair walked, her usually excitable mood somewhat sombre for once. When she turned to speak to him, her voice was low, almost sad.
“I’m assuming, now your mission’s done, you’ll be returning home to Penzance?”
Brian stared down at her, then smiled.
“Well, I’m staying for at least one more night,” he laughed. “I’m pissed again, third night in a row. Starting to worry for my liver.”
She smiled back at him, then hooked her fingers through his. They were cool to the touch, as befitted a creature of the great, deep ocean.
“Good,” she said. “Because I’d like to see a lot more of you.”
“Hah, not sure what else this is you could see that you haven’t already. Well, there’s one small thing.”
“Small?”
Brian grimaced.
“Poor choice of words. I meant enormous. Huge thing.”
She laughed.
“I don’t even have anything to compare it to,” she giggled. “I’m afraid you’ll be my first.”
Brian stared for a moment.
“Really? You, the beautiful possessor of bewitching glamour who happens to frequent seedy nightclubs? How have you, in five hundred years, not been swept off your feet by some dashing man under your spell?”
“Never found the right one, I suppose,” she mused. “Funny that the one man I have a connection with is the one tasked with hunting down such creatures as myself.”
A sudden noise from the encroaching evening gloom high above them. A voice painfully familiar and even more painfully inevitable.
“Star-crossed lovers, indeed,” came Cassandra’s cold laugh.
She was sat atop the horizontal part of a streetlamp, some twenty feet above the ground, kicking her feet and eyeing the pair with amusement.
“What do you want?” Scylla growled. “Brian not kick your ass enough last night? Back for another thrashing? I have to warn you, I’m not half as drunk as I was then and you won’t find me as easy a prospect.”
The vampire dropped down to land lightly before them like a cat, rising and stalking slowly towards them with a smile on her fanged lips.
“My dear, don’t flatter yourself; I’ve killed more Nymphs than you’ve had fish dinners.”
“I’m a vegan.”
“And I really don’t care.” She fixed Brian with steely cold eyes. “And besides, it’s not you I’m after; it’s that scrawny excuse for a Helsing. You surprised me with your tricks last night, but I shan’t make that mistake again. No flaming sword in your hand. No car nearby to summon with a whistle – yes, I saw the Youtube video, and that was a cheap trick – so your death shall be quick.”
Brian, despite her threats, laughed.
“I’d make yourself scarce, Cassandra, and pretty sharpish.”
“Really? Who’s going to make me? You and your mermaid girlfriend?”
“Oi!” came a shout from behind her. “Say that word one more time. I dare you.”
Cassandra turned, to spy the half a dozen Nymphs standing, half-eaten trays of chips still held in their hands. Her smile faded.
“Oh.”
“You’re a big-wig in the vampire world,” Brian stated. “And I’ve seen you can handle one paralytic Nymph. But seven and a Helsing? How do you fancy your odds now?”
“For fuck’s sake,” Cassandra exclaimed. “Am I ever going to get you on your own?”
“Hope not.”
“Yeah, you’d better hope not.”
“And you’d better get out of here, leech,” Pandora told her, brandishing a six-inch saveloy like a club.
“Fine. Ladies, I bid you a good evening. And Helsing,” she turned to him, shaking her head. “One of these days, I’ll get you to myself. And when that day comes…”
“I’ll be ready,” he finished for her.
“Somehow, I doubt that.”
With those final parting words, she vanished in a cloud of pungent black smoke.
“She really doesn’t like you,” Scylla told him.
“I know.”
Despite his outward shell of bravado just then, deep inside he was troubled. Just as Cassandra had rightly pointed out, him beating her last night had been mere fluke. His chi-enhanced strength, taught him by Gertie only that very same day, had merely surprised the vampire. He knew that next time they fought, it would be on her terms. Terms he wasn’t sure he would have signed up for had they been presented him in black and white on paper.
“That was Cassandra,” Ariadne mused as she shovelled a chip into her mouth with a tiny wooden fork. “You know that right? She’s one of the worst leeches of the lot.”
“I know.”
“Wouldn’t like to be in your shoes,” Pandora laughed. “She’s not gonna rest till she sinks her fangs into you.”
“I know.”
“You keep saying that. You’re starting to sound like a broken record.”
“I… come on, let’s get out of here. Every time she translocates she leaves behind the smell of death and perfume and it turns my stomach.”
“Where to?” Scylla asked him.
He shrugged.
“Leeroys?”
“Leeroys. What do you think, girls?”
“Do they serve food?” one of the Nymphs asked in return.
“Peanuts and crisps,” Brian told her.
“What are crisps?”
“Well, follow us and you’ll find out.”
The group started off towards the nightclub, thoughts of their vampiric altercation now gone in the face of the dancing to come, before Scylla stopped him, pointing out his Iron Maiden hoody.
“Don’t think they’ll let you in wearing that. Want to go back to the B&B and get changed?”
Brian pondered for a moment.
“Nah. I’m sure there’ll be an ATM on the way.”
Chapter Nineteen:
Back To Normality (After A Fashion)
Brian pulled onto his driveway, switching off the rumbling engine and just sitting there, relaxed, as the exhausts pinged and cooled behind him. Home, at long last. He’d been in Newquay but a weekend, yet it had oddly enough felt like a lifetime. Another mission, another strange turn of events. One such strange happenstance texted him, even now, the message appearing on the car’s screen over Bluetooth.
It had been a good idea, buying Scylla a phone so they could keep in touch, but her texting skill was woefully lacking, the message garbled, misspelled, with random emoticons dotted all over the place. He laughed as he read it. She’d get better at it with practice.
She was asking when he’d next be up there, to visit. H
e pondered that a few moments. He didn’t know, in all honesty. But soon, he hoped; the girl, if girl a nigh-immortal Water Nymph could be called, was easy to get on with. And, as Brian’s neighbours in the B&B’s other bedrooms would have attested to, extremely enthusiastic in the bedroom department, as though five centuries of pent up frustration had at long last found an extremely appreciative, if now somewhat sore, outlet. And yet, what would the Masters think to such a liaison if they ever found out? He couldn’t imagine they’d have approved of him sleeping with what they saw to be the enemy. Then again, the other Helsings had done no less, or so XII had told him. He wondered how they’d handled their disapproving mentors.
“Just ask,” came a disembodied voice from the pair of eyes in the rear-view mirror.
“Jesus, XII,” Brian gasped, jumping in his seat. “Can you at least knock three times, or something, to let me know you’re going to pop up?”
The shade in the reflected back seat shook his vaguely translucent head.
“Nope. I’ve tried it. Turns out ghosts and poltergeists are different things entirely.”
“Fair enough. Anyway, yeah, so how do I go about handling this whole Nymph situation? I can’t see Heimlich approving. And I have no idea how I should act around Gertie. I thought maybe we were going somewhere, but obviously she has a different idea of taking things slow to mine.”
“Well, do you see things lasting with this Nymph?”
“No idea,” he admitted. “I’d like that, yes, but we’re from different worlds. Who knows? But I’d like to enjoy it while it lasts without the Masters breathing down my neck.”
“Then simple; don’t tell them anything. Worked for me.”
And with that, the ghost vanished, leaving Brian precisely back where he’d started. Worst Obi-Wan ever, Brian thought darkly. Strike me down and I shall become more useless than ever. The pair of eyes suddenly reappeared in the mirror.
“Oi – I can hear your thoughts, you know.”
“Good.”
Brian climbed from the car, dragging his bag out from the back seats and closing the door. He paused, seeing the surfboard sticking from the boot, before deciding that he’d come back for it with two free hands. He unlocked his front door, pushing it open, as ever surprised to see no bills cluttering his hallway carpet. A strange and refreshing feeling, not having debts looming over his head, one that he was still getting used to. He dumped his bag by the stairs and made his way into the living room, then through it, to the kitchen, turning the kettle on and dumping a tea bag into a mug; he’d had enough of alcohol the last few days.
“Attentive as ever, I see, young Helsing.”
Brian started, flinging his mug to the floor, where its distinctly unicorn-piss-free form shattered in an instant.
“God dammit, Heimlich. If it’s not XII, it’s you.”
“Hmm?”
The Master of Magic raised an eyebrow, regarding him strangely from where he sat on the living room couch. Brian waved a dismissive hand.
“Nothing. What are you doing here?”
“Well, I was leafing through the weekend’s bank statements and noticed a substantial amount of alcohol had been consumed. Along with a supremely inordinate amount of chicken. So rather than waiting for you to surface and finally show your hung-over face at the Sanctum, I thought I’d pop over and debrief you in the comfort of your own home.”
“Somewhat less comfortable knowing that you can pop in and out whenever you please. How’d you get in, anyway?”
“Poof!” Heimlich waved his hands. “Magic.”
“Fair enough. I’m assuming there’s no mystic runes you can teach me that I can inscribe on my door and stop people dropping in unannounced.”
“None that I’m willing to teach you just yet.”
“Thought as much.”
“Anyway, to the point at hand; how did your mission go? Everything went as smoothly as planned?”
“Not in any way shape or form. You can inform Friedrick that guided missiles are a no-no when it comes to hostage situations. For some reason, high-explosives and innocents in close proximity don’t go well together in the heat of battle. And next time he comes up with some kind of contraption like that, have him install an immobiliser or something. I had to rescue it from some sticky-fingered locals.”
“Someone stole your board?” Heimlich’s voice was incredulous. “No damage I’m assuming?”
“Not to the board, no. To the chavs, well, they got what they deserved.”
“Good. And I hear nothing on the news about any surfers getting eaten, so that’s also a good thing. I did see that they cancelled the first day, however, due to a shark attack. Second day went as planned, though, so I’m assuming you, how did you put it? Went all Helsing on their scaly asses?”
“Something like that, yes,” Brian carefully replied, fixing himself up a fresh cup of tea after the aborted first attempt. “I didn’t need to kill any, actually. There were some negotiations involved. And we ended up coming up with a compromise everyone was happy with.”
“A compromise? With man-eating Nymphs? Do tell. Did you persuade them to go for pizza instead?”
“Nando’s, actually.”
“Nando’s?”
“Correct.”
“I see. And what… they prefer it to the taste of humans?”
“Oh god yes,” Brian nodded. “Massively so. I don’t think we’ll be having a Nymph problem any time soon, not in Newquay at least.”
“Fantastic. Well that about clears everything up I needed to know. I’m assuming you’ll be coming in tomorrow for some training and to return that board?”
“I will.”
“Excellent.” Heimlich clapped his hands to his thighs with a sound of satisfied finality and rose, turning to move away, then paused, frowning. “Actually, there was one more thing.”
“Aye?”
“Who’s Scylla?”
Brian froze.
“How did you…? Have you been tapping my texts?”
“The car is linked to the mainframe back at the Sanctum, so we can keep track of you. You know, in case of trouble. Your texts may or may not show up on my office computer. Anyway, you’re not in trouble, it’s just idle curiosity.”
“I still find it a tad fucking invasive,” Brian protested. “But yeah, Scylla’s a girl I may have met in Newquay.”
“Nice, I’m assuming?”
“Very, we hit it off quite well, actually.”
“Good.” As Heimlich stared at him, his face quite unreadable, Brian made sure to keep his eyes slightly averted from his gaze. If Heimlich was suspicious of that, he gave no sign. “Well, relationships aren’t forbidden for a Helsing. Just make sure it doesn’t interfere with your work. And it goes without saying, don’t go blowing all your earnings on lavish gifts. I was kind enough to let your boyfriend’s watch slide, but I shan’t a second time.”
“Neil’s not my…”
But Heimlich had already vanished in a puff of smoke, leaving Brian alone and not quite sure what to make of the encounter. The kettle whistled beside him and so he did the only thing any Englishman could do finding himself mired in such a strange situation.
He made a cup of tea.
Epilogue:
Cunting Fuck Nuggets
Marazion beach in winter was a cold and forbidding stretch of sand, even in the middle of the day with the sun feebly shining in the blue sky, yet still that didn’t stop the tourists from gawping and taking pictures of the looming castle upon the Mount, nor did it deter the local lunatic surfers. Brian glared at the surfboards, half tempted to reach out with the Mind Whip and pull them out from under their pretentious feet. He’d long come to the conclusion that all surfers were mentally ill douchebags and it would take a lot to convince him otherwise.
“Concentrate, Helsing,” Gertie told him.
“You concentrate. You’ve spent most of his training session staring at the scantily clad men and women on their boards.”
“It’s called window-shopping. And I’m a Master, so it’s my prerogative. Besides, it gets tiresome being cooped up in the Sanctum with the same faces and figures burning into my eyes day in, day out. Wendy’s fat ass haunts my dreams, and not in a good way. Now come on, concentrate.”
“Do I really need to be doing this?” Brian asked, the blood pouring into his head from his body and legs, turning his face red with the pressure.
“Handstands are an important training tool. Nothing teaches concentration like knowing a moment’s distraction will have you landing flat on your face.”
“We could have just gone skating. That would have done the same job and at least I wouldn’t have felt like my head was about to explode.”
“Can you skate?”
“No.”
“Then shut up.”
Brian sighed, a tendril of saliva pooling under his top lip threatening to spill over and fall into his eye, so he slurped it in and gazed about at the upside down beach.
“Isn’t this the point where I lift some rocks into the air? Maybe pull an X-wing from the sand?”
“That would attract attention.”
“Standing on my head is attracting enough attention. That couple with the Jack Russell have been laughing at me for a solid five minutes.”
“They’re not laughing at you. They’re laughing with you.”
“I’m not laughing, so that doesn’t work.”
“Then picture them naked. I am.”
“It seems I’m the only person you never picture naked.”
A pause, as she pondered his words, but he would never hear her answer, as a seemingly-never ending pair of slim legs began to emerge from the upside-down sea, distracting her attention.
“Oh, hello,” she murmured. “Now there’s a body-boarder of whose body I could never get bored.”
“God, you’re like a psychedelic, nympho midget.”
“And you’re like someone who should really be concentrating on not breaking his neck.”
Brian’s arms were beginning to tremble with the strain of holding his head clear from the sand, so he breathed out, relaxed, allowed the chi to flow and restore his strength, assuaging the aches and pains. The pair of shapely legs drew nearer, face still out of sight from his vantage point near the sand. Gertie turned towards the newcomer.
Brian Helsing: The World's Unlikeliest Vampire Hunter. Mission #2: Surf's Up Page 12