Blood City: Book Two Of The Monster Keeper Series

by Jeff Seats

  She had not looked at Craig in an attempt to forestall having to admit the horrible truth. He was either dead or on his way to becoming a vampire, and for just a little while longer she refused to think about it and what her duty demanded—what she NEEDED to do next.

  Agency protocol stated a wounded operative had to be, bluntly said: killed. There was no way around it. Even a scratch from sharp vampire claws could lead to the transfer of toxins that could turn a human into a vampire. This quarantine procedure further stated the deceased team member must have her /his head removed, then the body had to be incinerated. Only ashes could be brought back home. This was done to mitigate the chances of a fallen agent—slight as that may be—of being revived, not as a human but as a vampire; spreading the infection inside the CSC headquarters itself.

  The discovery of eighteenth-century burial sites in Eastern Europe where suspected vampires were interred very vividly illustrated there had been a valid concern about the spread of the vampiric contagion from the supposed dead. Found within these graves were beheaded skeletons, metal spikes driven through long-since-decayed chests, stones wedged into mouths to keep fangs from biting, and even iron cages placed over graves. All such measures were taken to ensure that the dead stayed dead and, more important, that the living remained human. Superstitions aside, the wisdom of the past had informed the agency regarding the necessity of such draconian action.

  The stench of Steph’s body steeping and soaking itself into another stain on the concrete floor brought Liz back to the reality of having to complete her duty. She knew she had neither the tools nor the strength to cut off Craig’s head. First, however, she had to pump a silver-clad bullet into his heart; something she didn’t have the will to do. But his pleading eyes looking into hers gave her the strength to pull the trigger. They both knew it had to be done. And while she did not want the task, she also knew Craig didn’t want to be in this situation either.

  She checked the magazine—one bullet left—then knelt next to her friend. His throat was too savaged for him to be able to speak, but his eyes said it all. And what he was saying was too unbearable to contemplate. A lifetime of being together was revealed through those eyes full of sorrow, desperation, love—a future that would not be experienced, all in the amount of time it took to chamber the last silver round from her near-empty magazine. Liz reached down and brushed his hair back as she imagined his mother might have done when he was a child. Choking back tears, she kissed Craig on the lips and looked into his eyes one last time.

  “I love you, Agent Wright.”

  Then Liz delicately placed the muzzle of her 9mm against his chest aiming at his heart. Craig stared up into her eyes. He gripped the muzzle with both hands helping maintain her resolve, then he winked and smiled indicating that he was ready.

  She closed her eyes and pulled the trigger.

  Liz stood, eyes still shut tight. The gun’s loud report was all she could handle. Seeing the effects of a bullet, her bullet, on Craig was too much to contemplate. As it was, she knew the sound of the gun would echo through her head till her last day.

  Looking at the destruction of life on the floor around her, Liz began to doubt her role in the CSC. Maybe for the one-hundredyear history of the organization there hadn’t been as much death associated with it, but for the brief period she had been an agent there seemed to have been more than enough and Liz was tired of it. Especially the part in which she had to kill teammates— her friend.

  She lowered her head, brain swimming in self-doubt and regret. At her feet, she saw the silver rosary Craig’s mom had given to him just a couple days earlier. She bent to pick it up. There was a fair amount of blood on it. Whose she did not know, nor care as she fingered the beads. She brought the crucifix up to her forehead, and through long ingrained muscle memory, she used it to cross herself. Touching one of the beads she started to pray, “Hail Mary, full of grace . . .,” Who was she kidding? Prayers don’t help situations such as these.

  She wanted to blame God for what had happened. Without a doubt, she needed to understand how God could have even created these monsters. If He hadn’t then who or what did? And if not God, then didn’t it follow that there was no God at all? But this was no time for philosophy, all she could think about was the death of her partner and maybe, conceivably—well, who knew where that might have gone. She knew that Craig was attracted to her. She knew that he remained emotionally distant due to the death of a former partner—former because he had to do to her what Liz just did to Craig. No, this was no way to live, wallowing in self-pity and doubt. Liz slouched in defeat—shoulders hunched, arms hanging at her sides, the useless silver necklace dangling from her left hand—forgetting Master Sergeant Terry’s admonitions to remain focused and tactically aware of her surroundings.

  From a dark recess of the chamber, she heard the sound of clapping. At first, it was soft and could have been the rhythmic drip, drip, drip of water seeping in from the city above. Then the clap, clap, clap became more pronounced and the recognizable sound of two hands beating together was obvious.

  Liz looked at the source of the applause. A man materialized and emerged from a shadowed corner. After a brief moment of surprise, she recognized the reality of her situation. The time of feeling sorry for herself had come and gone.

  “Vlad. You piece of shit.”

  “Oh, Agent Adams. I am offended by such language.” He looked down at the once beautiful body of Stephanie, now a smoldering pile, leaching into the cracks of the floor. “And after my ovation to you on your performance.” Vladimir shook his head in a sad, dejected fashion. “Such poor manners.” He took another step closer to her.

  Liz tensed, preparing herself for what would happen next. She had seen it before during her first day as a field agent. Liz and Craig had been sent to Vamp Town to rescue any remaining humans from a broken-down bus who had stumbled into the town filled with vampires. She had watched Vlad hold Craig off the ground by his throat like a rag doll, slowly choking the life out of him. Craig was helpless, unable to resist as Vlad reached into his mind, controlling his every action. Liz tried to help, but all Vlad did was swat her to the side like a bug that had landed on his sleeve—no mind control required.

  Cautiously, she began to reach over her left shoulder for the tactical knife at her back, the 9mm rendered useless, having just used the last round on Craig. Liz’s right arm was about halfway across her chest, reaching for the sheathed knife, when she felt him. Her arm stopped moving. Vlad was touching her mind and had shut down her ability to move.

  “Now, now, agent. How about we have a fair fight. A show of abilities. No need for weapons.”

  Then Liz felt her arm begin to move. Her hand touched the handle of the knife. The blade was slowly drawn out of its scabbard, down across her chest and stopped, the tip pointing under her chin drilling into the skin. This was it. She was powerless to stop. With one casual thought, Vlad could have Liz drive her own knife up into her skull and through her brain. Fight over.

  His smile was that of a mischievous child. “Please. Do you actually think me to be so dishonorable as to take the easy path? We shall fight, but without weapons.”

  Then Liz felt her arm sweep out, moving the blade away from her neck. Her hand loosened its grip and the knife flew out the dark shadows clattering to the ground. Liz could feel Vlad withdraw his presence from her mind and she was again able to freely move.

  “I wish to show you the type of leader I truly am.”

  “What do you mean?” Liz asked, surprised.

  “Agent Adams, I require your respect and trust as you become a member of my family.”

  Startled, Liz shook her head in dismay and began to back away from Vladimir.

  “You cannot defeat me, though you will try. One way or another, however, you will join.”

  ««« ‡ »»» LIZ FELT HER mouth go dry. She knew that help was too far away. But they had to know. They had to. After watching Terry die the Center had to know what it was
up against. Craig was right. Alex should have been brought into the agency. Vlad was too powerful for any human to take on. She knew this show of fair play on Vlad’s part was precisely that, a show. She was doomed. Not to die, that would be too easy. She was condemned to the life of the undead. To roam the Earth in search of her next victim. And presumably to be under the thumb of this deranged vampire.

  She felt panic set in. What to do? Flight was out of the question. There was only the one way out, and Vlad was standing in front of it. Besides, once out she had no idea where to go in that maze of tunnels. It was time to take control of this situation no matter what.

  “Why do you want me in your bloodthirsty family? What could I possibly add? This is about something bigger, isn’t it?” Liz was fishing, stalling.

  “You can ask all of the questions you desire. No one will rescue you. Or at least arrive in enough time to alter the outcome.” Vladimir resumed his seat on the armchair. “When we first met, I saw you had a strong sense of justice. You have a precise definition of what the correct thing to do is. You convinced Agent Wright dropping that bomb on our heads was the wrong thing to do; allowing him to question the morality of keeping people imprisoned for simply being who they are.

  “No immortal asked to be converted into freaks of nature,” he continued. “That mad monk wasn’t doing either my brother or myself any favors by turning us into the creatures we are today. But there is no going back for us, no matter how much we wish.

  “Alexei tries by playacting the role of a human. Like the ancient Greeks, he dons the character mask and costume of jeans, boots and plaid shirt; pretending to be as American as your apple pie, which he couldn’t eat. Human food, it doesn’t digest so well in our guts.

  “You will learn, as your system becomes adjusted, such foods you find enjoyable will only make you violently ill, even kill you. Just another reminder that you should accept what you have become. You will discover a vastly superior self than who you are today.” He sat back in his throne and crossed his legs.

  “You are correct in ascertaining that there is something more substantial at hand. We have been unfairly pursued and locked away. Of course, some people had to die over the years. People always die. It’s a natural process. Hunt and be hunted. But I am finished with sitting back and allowing myself and those who follow me to live according to how humans see the world.

  “We are living intelligent beings with rights of our own. No more negotiations, no more treaties in which we get the losing end of the arrangement. From this point forward, we shall dominate as we should have all along and stop cowering in the dark. I have sent my demands to your CSC, and they will comply or —”

  “Or what?” Liz countered taking a step towards him, feeling emboldened. “Or you will drop some big ass bomb on us? What?”

  “You have a great sense of humor. A bomb? Where would I get such a devise? And why would I use it and destroy the very world I live in?” Vladimir shook his head. “No. No bomb. Something much more devastating and long-lasting. Either humanity allows us to live without fear of being murdered, permits us to hunt as we need, and guarantees a steady supply of blood for my growing family OR when the time is right, and my people have sufficient numbers, we shall conquer the world and claim it as our birthright. Humans will be the ones locked up. You shall become our chattel. You will serve the undead in all ways. You will be kept in herds and bred for the exceptional qualities of your blood. And we shall argue the finer distinctions in the flavor between corn-fed or free-range humans. HA! Either way, humanity will step aside as the top predator.”

  Liz tried not to show any emotion, but her eyes burned angrily revealing a strong urge to kill.

  Vladimir stood and walked to Liz. “I require your assistance in this conquest. I need an adviser who understands the humans of today. Your sense of fair play can only help to mollify my desire for complete revenge. Your knowledge of the CSC will be indispensable as I make my plans.” Vladimir looked into her face. He brought up his hand and gently, seductively touched her cheek and brushed his fingers down and across her lips. “Of course, there are certain pleasantries you will discover that are incomparable to anything you now know.”

  Seething with rage, Liz curled her hands into battle hammers ready to strike. The intensity of the action helped her remember the rosary she still clutched in her left hand as it embedded itself into her palm.

  Immediately, she thrust the string of silver beads into Vlad’s face. He became enraged as the figure of the crucified Christ on the cross burned into his cheek. He grabbed her by the throat picking her up, feet dangling.

  “I told you, charms will not, cannot, stop me!” He squeezed harder. “I believed that I could help you see what is best for both races. You could have been an important adviser to me as I moved forward with my plans . . . that you would keep me on the path of least harm to mortals. I do not want to wage war on humanity. I only want what is fairly ours.”

  It felt as though Vlad’s fingers reached all the way around Liz’s slender throat, palm pressing against her Adam’s apple allowing air to enter her lungs only through sharp, deep bursts. He was choking her to death!

  “Such a shame too. You had the potential to save your people from my darker self. You were going to be the good angel on my shoulder always keeping me in check from the horrors I will bring down on those you love.” His grip tightened.

  Liz could feel consciousness slipping. It wouldn’t be long. The fingers on her right hand brushed something on her belt. One more ragged gasp of oxygen and her brain cleared up from dimness to a fuzzy lightness. Her wood knife! Craig gave it to her on their way to Vamp Town—a lamination of three species of hardwood (ash, aspen, and linden, all purported to have vampire killing properties), carved into a sharp stake with a cross at the hilt.

  Barely able to make her finger joints follow her commands, she grabbed the knife’s handle, brought it up between their two bodies, and plunged the tip as close as she could to Vlad’s heart. The surprise in his eyes told her that she had made her point felt. Craig appeared in her oxygen-starved brain and grimaced at her lousy pun.

  Vladimir’s eyes went wild, taking on a beastly glaze. He did not move. His left hand still had a stranglehold on Liz’s throat, but the grip had relaxed slightly. He brought up his right hand and grabbed the wrist of Liz’s hand, which still drove the knife into his chest. He squeezed and twisted with force sufficient enough to break it causing her to let go and then he dropped Liz to the floor where she lay panting for oxygen.

  Unable to do anything, Liz remained on the ground and watched Vlad jerk about madly as he tried to remove the knife from his chest. She was going to enjoy watching him implode. But, he didn’t. She could tell he was wounded. His lack of focus on the puny human sprawled at his feet hinted at the fact that he was concerned for his own survival. He desperately tried to remove the knife, but one side of the handle guard that formed the cross appeared to have entered the wound and had caught on the inside of the incision. Vlad roared with pain, hate. But the more he tried to extract the stake, the further it seemed to be working into his chest. As he flailed around, Liz could see she missed his heart by fractions of an inch. Maybe an unrecoverable wound, but at this point, no steaming pile of inside-out Vlad innards either.

  Vladimir clutched his side with blood slipping out between his fingers—the knife protruding from his body. He made a sweeping movement, wincing from pain as he brought his arm up across his body. She watched him gesture and make a face that she was unfamiliar with. He did it a second time apparently expecting something to happen like a magician tapping the brim of the top hat—Ta-Da!—but, there was no rabbit inside.

  After a third attempt, she thought she could see his body fade, becoming transparent. His feet and lower legs appearing as thin wisps of dark smoke, but then they swirled together becoming flesh once again. Furious, Vlad gave Liz a kick. But even that action caused him intense agony. The schoolyard bully not getting his way, he turned a
nd staggered from the chamber dribbling blood as he fled into the black tunnel.

  With the shock of the ordeal beginning to subside, Liz awkwardly climbed to her feet pushing against her right hand, but the pain from Vlad almost crushing that wrist was too much, and she collapsed back to the floor. Other than a bruised throat and sore wrist Liz didn’t think that she had any other injuries. Even still, she did a general scan of her limbs and torso before attempting to stand again. All seemed okay. So, using her left hand this time, she struggled up to her feet. A wave of vertigo greeted her as she stood upright, but it passed as quickly as it came on.

  Still not convinced that she was injury-free Liz pulled out her cell phone, and opened the camera app. She walked to one of the lanterns and used the flickering light to examine her face and neck using the selfie mode as a mirror. Nothing.

  She knew it was a fantasy to expect to have any signal strength to make a call for help, but she checked anyway. Well, sometimes fantasies could be real, the existence of vampires for instance. Hopefully, the body cams got it all and help would be coming. Her job now was to get out of this maze of tunnels and back out into the world of fresh air and life.

  God, I feel like crap. Liz thought and exited Vlad’s throne room. FINALLY OUT ON the street, Liz leaned against a building to stabilize herself after another wave of the dizziness; ignoring the line heading into Voodoo Doughnut for a late-night sugar rush. She breathed in the fresh night air as deeply as her sore ribs would allow, not discounting the other parts of her body that also screamed in pain. She was exhausted from fighting and subduing—How many? Three? Four?—vampires and tussling with the baddest, motherfucking vampire of all. So she counted herself lucky. She was still alive.