Emily Shadowhunter 2 - a Vampire, Shapeshifter, Werewolf novel.: Book 2: WOLF MAN

by Craig Zerf

  ‘Wait,’ called out Sylvian. ‘I can sense another of those vile creatures. Here Close.’

  Em immediately drew her sword. ‘Spread out,’ she commanded. ‘Let’s find it and kill it.’ She looked at Sylvian. ‘Efficiently and without feeling.’

  Sylvian nodded, ignoring her clumsy sarcasm and choosing instead to take her comment at face value.

  The three of them checked the entire warehouse but to no avail.

  ‘Come on,’ said Em. ‘There’s no one here. Let’s get moving.’

  They all walked back towards the entrance.

  ***

  Tag watched the two Shadowhunters and the Bloodborn head towards the warehouse. Towards battle. While he stood outside with his thumb up his ass and stayed safe.

  He knew that Em was only trying to protect him. But he had fought against the vamps many times and, unlike all of his former gang mates, he was still alive. He felt that ought to count for something. Some sort of respect.

  He sulkily kicked at an empty beer can that lay, crushed almost flat, on the sidewalk. A child sulking. ‘Bloody think that they’re so good with their superpowers and their immortality,’ he mumbled to himself. ‘At least I can go out in the sunlight. Stupid Bloodborn.’

  The man appeared next to him like he had simply materialized out of the fog. A conjurors trick involving smoke and mirrors.

  ‘Waiting for someone?’ He asked.

  Tag looked up, noting the death-pallor of the man’s features, the unnatural redness of his lips and finally, as he smiled, the fangs.

  The big man chuckled. ‘Yes, actually,’ he answered. ‘I was waiting for you.’ And with a speed and smoothness born of countless hours of practice, Tag drew his MP5 submachine gun from beneath his coat and opened up on the vampire.

  The first three silver jacketed round smashed into the things chest driving it back a couple of steps and causing it to grunt in pain.

  And then nothing. Tag glanced down to see the offending round jammed upright in the weapons ejection port. A smoke-stack jam, caused by the last fired cartridge not fully ejecting.

  Frantically he worked the bolt but it wouldn’t move. It was well and truly stuck solid. He dropped what was now simply a useless lump of steel and whipped out his combat knife. A WWII vintage, Fairbairn-Sykes SAS knife. He held it in his right hand and stood like a boxer, on the balls of his feet, ready to strike or defend.

  But when the vampire moved Tag felt like he was trapped in gelatin. Every movement was slow, slow, slow. A toddler taking their first steps. While the vampire was an Olympic sprinter in comparison.

  Before Tag could bring his blade to bear the vamp had struck him twice in the face. Massive blows that broke bones and split skin. Then he grabbed Tag’s arm, applied pressure and simply snapped it at the elbow, bending it back at and impossible angle and snatching the knife from his hand.

  Finally, he spun the blade, rammed it into the big man’s chest, withdrew it and then slashed open his throat, readying him for a feed.

  But when he knelt next to the prostrate body, leaning forward to lap at the flowing blood, there was a flash of silver and his head leapt from his shoulders as Sylvian’s rapier removed it with a single cut.

  Emily kicked the vampire’s body out of the way and dropped down next to Tag’s lifeless corpse. With shaking hands she attempted to stop the blood pouring from the ragged wound in his throat. Pushing at the wounded flesh.

  Bastian and the Bloodborn stood silently by, at a loss for words.

  Eventually Sylvian spoke. ‘It’s no use, Em,’ he said. ‘There’s nothing that you can do.’

  Emily shook her head. ‘No. Look, the bleedings stopping. See.’

  ‘No,’ denied Sylvian. ‘He simply bled out, if you look you can see that his chest has stopped bleeding as well. There’s just no blood left in him. No one can survive more than a minute with such grievous wounds. I’m really sorry. We all liked him very much.’

  Em let her hand drop to her sides and a cry of absolute loss was torn from her throat. ‘Not again,’ she screamed. ‘I can’t take this.’ She banged Tag’s dead chest. ‘No,’ she cried. ‘It’s not fair.’ She hit him again.

  ‘Hey,’ coughed Tag. ‘Stop it. Why you punching me?’

  Em, Sylvian and Bastian stared open mouthed at the big man who was struggling to sit up.

  Tag looked down at his chest and then felt his throat. Em noticed that his arm was no longer bent backwards.

  ‘Oh hell,’ groaned the big man. ‘I remember now, that blood sucker stabbed me with my own knife. Now that’s embarrassing.’ He glanced over at the headless vamp. ‘Good, I see one of you got him for me. Who was it?’

  Sylvian raised his hand.

  ‘Thanks,’ said Tag. ‘Hey, why you guys all looking at me funny?’

  We thought that you were dead,’ whispered Em.

  ‘Again? Man, you guys are determined that I pop my clogs. I’m fine. Couldn’t have been as bad as it looked.’

  ‘Your throat was cut,’ said Bastian. ‘And there was a big hole in your chest.’

  Tag pulled his t-shirt up and looked, ‘There’s a big hole in my shirt,’ he admitted. ‘But my chest seems fine.’

  Em started to laugh.

  ‘What’s so funny?’ Asked Tag

  ‘It’s your power,’ she said. ‘The Prof’s potion. It took your pig-headed stubbornness and refusal to give up and amplified it to the point that you can’t be killed. Tag,’ she continued. ‘I think that you have just become un-killable.’

  Tag raised an eyebrow. ‘Really? Wow, cool.’

  Chapter 19

  The vampires had changed their tactics and no one was sure what to do about it. Instead of feeding in any of the major cities, the blood suckers had spread their nets wider, picking random small villages and hamlets that were off the beaten track. From as far North as Lands End and as far South as Penzance.

  England, Scotland, Ireland, Wales and even some of the Channel Islands like Alderney and Sark. There was no way the teams could patrol the entire landmass of the United Kingdom. And the feedings were so randomly placed that there was also no question of a chance interaction.

  The wolves were stumped. As were Emily, Bastian and Sylvian.

  So Em, Bastian, Tag and the Bloodborn had returned to William’s hide out in the New Forest. The teams had stayed where they were, spread about the country, waiting for a call to arms. Waiting for some direction.

  ‘You been hunting and killing these things your whole life,’ said Em to Sylvian. ‘How do you catch them?’

  Sylvian did his French shrug. ‘That’s different. Time is on my side. I show patience, guile. Sometimes it takes me months, even years, to track down one or two of them. Sometimes I strike it lucky and come across a brood or small enclave. Mainly though it’s just slow, grinding detective work. But we don’t have time for that now,’ he continued. ‘We are at war and they are still out there killing on a daily basis while we sit here and contemplate our own navels.’

  ‘True,’ admitted Emily. ‘I wonder if Tag or Bastian have any ideas.’

  ‘Where are they?’ Asked Sylvian.

  ‘Tag is with the Prof. The old man is real excited about Tag’s whole immortality thing. He’s conducting experiments, trying to see how and why it happened.’

  ‘And Bastian?’

  ‘He’s with William. The two of them are trying to keep some sort of lid on this whole affair. I mean, the cops are starting to notice a raft of sadistic and violent murders with a very similar MO. Not long now and they’re going to reckon that they have the world’s most prolific serial killer on their hands or, worse, a group of copy-cat killers.’

  ‘So? What can William and Bastian do about that?’

  ‘They’ve got contacts,’ answered Em. ‘Tons of them. Police, newspapers, priests, actors. People that owe them favors. People that are in the know. A surprising amount of non-humans. Boggarts, wizards, godlings, that sort of thing. Basically, they’re convincing them a
ll to put about the theory that the killings are the results of two competing cults who have gone on the rampage. It’s not the most feasible theory but it’s probably more believable than the truth.’

  Sylvian raised an eyebrow. ‘I agree, modern humanity will pretty much believe anything before they accept that there is a war going on between vampires and werewolves.’ He sighed. ‘It doesn’t seem that long ago when such a thing would have been almost common place. Oh well, a bit of damage control won’t hurt. At least it will muddy the waters a bit.’

  The door opened and William and Bastian walked in.

  Bastian put the kettle on and William sat down. He looked exhausted.

  ‘Wassup?’ Asked Em.

  ‘I think that Bastian and I managed to put a lid on things for a while. But there’s some bad news. Lots, actually. Firstly, the Morrigan is ignoring me. I can sense her so I know that she’s listening. But that is her way. She comes when not needed and stays away when you want her. Also, after talking with the police something has become very apparent.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘There has been a raft of disappearances. Missing persons across the United Kingdom. All very similar types. Mainly males in their mid twenties to thirties. Sporty, high achievers, loners. Aggressive or arrogant. Thrill seekers, extreme sports enthusiasts, fighters, that sort of thing. And when Bastian checked with Interpol they confirmed that the trend is taking place across Europe as well. After going through all of the available info we concluded that around four or five hundred have gone missing. The only reason that no one else has noticed is that it’s taking place across such a mélange of countries.’

  ‘So what does that mean?’ Asked Em.

  ‘William’s theory is that the vamps are going on a recruitment drive,’ interjected Bastian. ‘And I agree. They’re turning them, not feeding on them or we’d find the bodies. Strong, aggressive male types. Perfect vampire warriors. Even with the high rate of attrition they must have been successful with at least a couple of hundred. That negates all of the work that we have done so far. And more.’

  Emily could see why the two men looked so exhausted. To them it seemed like there was no end. For every vamp that they killed another simply sprang up in its place. Or even another two. It was like playing whack-a-mole but with blood-sucking killers as opposed to furry toys.

  ‘So what are we going to do about it?’ Enquired Emily.

  William shook his head. ‘To be honest, I really don’t have a clue at the moment. Not a clue.’

  Chapter 20

  Nathan had been called to a meeting in the main ballroom. There had been no warning and he was told by one of the elders to be there immediately.

  ‘It is not your place to command me,’ he said to Karl Jackson, the elder in point. ‘Now leave my room, messenger. I shall arrive when I arrive. Go now.’

  The elder stared at the young Shadowhunter/Vampire with hate and then, not wanting to push it too far, he left.

  Nathan waited until the Elder had turned the corner in the corridor and then he ran at hyper speed to gather his Bloodwraiths. Collecting all twenty to accompany him to the surprise meeting.

  They walked behind him. Not quiet militarily enough to be called a march but not relaxed enough to be simply walking. Their footsteps in time, arms swinging, eyes straight ahead.

  Also, Nathan, unbeknown to the rest of the chapter, had kitted his Bloodwraiths out in a uniform over the last two days. Instead of the usual all-black, they now sported black shirts and trousers, leather boots, belts and jackets dyed a red so dark as to be the same color as congealed blood. Finally a short ceremonial dagger hung on each hip. The daggers were modern versions of the vicious curved bladed Arabian Janbiya, except, instead of the traditional Rhino horn handle, the Bloodwraiths handles were carved from human bone. Nathan had encouraged them all to grow their hair long and now it hung down to their shoulder blades.

  It was impossible not to be impressed by them. And it took a very brave, or a very foolhardy being, to not feel a good deal of trepidation, if not fear, in their presence.

  Nathan entered the ballroom, walked through the crowd of collective Elders to the center and stopped. Behind him his Bloodwraiths formed a row, peeling off the column in practiced symmetry.

  Sitting on the throne at the head of the room was Janus Augusta, the supreme leader of the Nosferatu. He was dressed in black with a long maroon velvet cloak draped about his shoulders. A young familiar stood next to him. He was shirtless, his pale, adolescent body not yet encumbered by the full muscle mass of an adult. Nathan could see that the boy was bleeding from a small cut in his wrist. The blood dripped, slowly and unheeded onto the floor next to him. Janus Augusta had been snacking, playing with the child. A cat with a small living thing. A cruel game as much as a meal.

  Nathan strode towards the Master of all Masters, dropping to his knees before him and keeping his eyes downcast.

  ‘Father,’ he greeted. ‘I was not told that you were coming. My joy at your presence is boundless and my heart is filled with its love for you.’

  Janus cackled. ‘You have no heart, Nathan Shadowhunter, but I thank you for the show of respect, it is an art that many of our brethren have forgotten. You knew not of my coming because the rules do not allow the accused to be forewarned. And right now, you, my child, stand before me as the accused.’

  ‘Accused of what?’ Asked Nathan.

  ‘I shall let your accuser answer that,’ said the Capo. ‘Now stand, my child.’

  Nathan stood as Lord Byron stepped forward.

  ‘In front of the gathered chapters of the Nosferatu, I accuse you of gross negligence and dereliction of duty. I accuse you of incompetence, mismanagement and cowardice. And I demand that you be tried and sentenced.’ Declaimed the Lord, his accusations ringing out across the huge room.

  Nathan smiled, an expression of true amusement. ‘So speaks the king of cowardice himself,’ he replied. ‘The Lord who is naught but a figurehead. Well, fire away, lord of timidity, lay out your case.’

  ‘It does not take a genius to see your multitude of failings,’ said Byron. ‘Since taking command of the Enforcers you have failed to protect the brethren from the wolves. You have closed down the feeding clubs. You have loosed the brethren on the towns and cities like wild animals to feed at will. You have exposed us to great danger. And to what avail? Still the wolves hunt and kill us. Still we are not safe. And do we see you out patrolling to hunt them down? No. Cowardice.’

  Once again Nathan smiled, this time condescendingly. ‘My Lord Byron,’ he said quietly. ‘I put it to you that you are a liar. You are dealing in falsehood and part truths at best. It is true that I have closed down the clubs. We were far too exposed in them. The wolves could have, and indeed they did, strike at any club, anywhere in the United Kingdom at any time. We do not have the personnel to protect them all.

  But then to say that I released our brethren into the night like a pack of wild animals…I find that statement to be both untrue and highly offensive. None of us are, or behave, as wild animals.

  You then go on to say that the wolves still do us harm. Again, a monstrous lie. There have been no attacks for over three weeks now. Ever since I advised our brethren to cast their nets further afield. To feed in the hamlets and hollows. Outside of the major cities. And this they do now with impunity. As we were always meant to do. We are the children of the night. Not some degenerate gathering of club-goers.

  Not only this, I have encouraged our brethren to turn anyone whom they consider worthy. Athletes, fighters, top business men and women. People with drive and determination. They are not just feeding will-he-nil-he. We now hunt with a purpose. And since I have instituted this we have added many hundreds of brethren to our houses. Superior vampires, not merely the humans that managed to live through being fed on.

  I have created order and drive. I have created purpose. I have put us back on the track that we had fallen off under your weak and spineless leadership. So, accuse a
ll that you want. Because no one will support your baseless ravings. You pathetic creature.’

  Lord Byron howled in rage as he stepped forward and lashed out at Nathan. The ex-Shadowhunter saw the blow coming like it was in slow motion but he did not deign to move. Instead allowing the lord to strike him full in the face. One of Byron’s extended talons sliced Nathan’s cheek to the bone and blood spurted out before the cut healed almost instantly leaving his cheek covered in blood.

  Nathan looked at Byron with contempt but, before he could say anything, there was a collective gasp in the room full of elders.

  Your blood,’ said Janus. ‘It shines with a light of inner fire.’ The ancient vampire leader stood up and recited.

  ‘When He broke the second seal, I heard the second living creature saying, “Come.” And a shining red horse went out; and to him who sat on it, it was granted to take peace from the earth, and that men would slay one another; and a great sword was given to him.’

  Nathan frowned. ‘The Bible. Revelations. I’ve heard it before but I don’t get what that has to do with me.’

  The Capo nodded. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘I always forget how young you are. It is part of our Nosferatu history. Part of the narration of our existence. It is prophesized that a man who is not a man will one day come to lead us into battle. And that man who is no man would be known by his shining red horse, or as our philosophers read it, by his shining blood. That being would wield the sword on behalf of the Nosferatu nation, enslaving all of human kind and placing us at our rightful place. At the acme of civilization. The apex predator amongst all others.’

  Nathan still looked puzzled.

  ‘You are the man who is not a man,’ continued Janus. ‘You are a Shadowhunter. And you are now an Enforcer, a leader of the Bloodwraiths. The soldiers. You see, we always took it that the glowing of blood part of the prophecy was not literal. Perhaps meaning royalty, or such what. But now I know. Your blood literally glows with an inner fire. It is incredible.’