Hunting in Bruges

by E.J. Stevens

  -Jenna Lehane, Hunter

  At Ash’s recommendation, I got a room at the Vandenberghe Inn. It was a small bed and breakfast run by a married couple in their forties. Their English was good and the price of the room was even better.

  When I was done, I went outside where Ash still waited. I needed to thank him for walking me here and suggesting this place. I smiled, pocketing my new room key. Sofia and her husband Nicolas were good people. Their rates were fair and they didn’t complain when I came in trying to get a room in the middle of the night.

  I stepped out onto the sidewalk, eyes going to the lightening sky. Hell, it was practically morning.

  “The Vandenberghe’s get you settled?” he asked.

  “Yes,” I said. “They only just returned from holiday, so I’m their only guest at the moment.”

  “Sofia will have plenty of opportunities to spoil you then,” he said.

  I frowned. I didn’t need spoiling. I wasn’t some kid.

  “Look, thanks for helping me find this place, but it’s late,” I said.

  “Saying goodnight already?” he asked. “Aren’t you going to invite me up? I can help you with those cuts. Wounds from vampire claws are a bugger.”

  “I know,” I said. “I’ve got it covered.”

  “You’ll need stitches, love,” he said.

  “I can take care of it,” I said.

  “You sure?” he asked.

  “Yeah, you go on,” I said, waving him away.

  He looked like he wanted to say more, but after a moment he took a step back and shrugged.

  “Alright, but let me come with you tomorrow night,” he said.

  I let out a heavy sigh. I preferred to work alone, but my injuries would slow me down, and Ash had proven himself useful with a sword. If I encountered more vampires, he’d be a valuable asset.

  I nodded and made my way back into the inn and up the stairs to my room. The room was small, but it had its own bathroom. After tonight, I didn’t think I could stomach walking down a dark hallway to a shared bathroom.

  I shrugged out of my leather jacket, wincing as the motion sent a jolt of pure agony through my side. I tossed the jacket over the one chair in the room and added my sword and battle skirt to the pile. I kicked off my boots and added my knives to the growing pile on the chair. I’d have to wipe down my gear before crawling into bed, but first I needed to treat my wounds.

  I went into the tiny bathroom and clicked on the light. Untying the corset was a bitch, but I finally undid the knots and tossed it in the sink. I ran cold water and added some of the complimentary shampoo and left it to soak. I sighed, fatigue making my movements slow. I’d need to sew the torn cloth panel—just another job to complete before bed.

  A Hunter never sleeps until her gear is in good working order. It was a rule that I was starting to resent. But rules are there for a reason. You never know when the monsters will come, and when they do, a good Hunter is always prepared.

  Though at the rate I was going, I wouldn’t get to sleep until next week. I rubbed a hand over my face, wishing I’d taken Ash up on his offer after all. I chided myself.

  Chin up, Jenna, you haven’t even gotten to the tough stuff.

  I grit my teeth as I peeled off my body suit, tossing it with a wet splat into the bathtub. I had to sit on the toilet to remove my socks and leggings. It was that or fall over and crack my head, and I didn’t need to do that more than once in one night. My skull wasn’t that thick, no matter what some of my foster parents used to think.

  Standing under the shower, I lathered up with hotel soap. I was getting used to the burning pain of the water against my side and leg, but the tears came anyway. There just wasn’t enough soap in the world to wash away Chad and Frank and all the ugliness in this world.

  When the tears finally stopped, I grabbed my bloody body suit. I scrubbed at it until the water ran clear. I wrung the garment out, hanging it on the towel bar, and stared at the pink water circling the drain at my feet.

  Blood in the bathtub? I shrugged. No big deal. That was just another night for a Hunter.

  I padded out to retrieve my first aid kit, and began the unpleasant job of stitching myself back together. It was surprising how bad I was at it, considering all the practice I had. Standing there naked, I surveyed my work. The ragged gash at my side was now a mess of puckered skin and black thread. It would leave another scar to join the dozens of others on my legs, arms, and torso. I flicked off the light and squeezed my eyes shut.

  It could have been worse.

  The corset had kept constant pressure on the wound, minimizing the bleeding and keeping it from tearing open wider as I fought the vampires, and later Chad. I opened my eyes and pulled on the terrycloth robe that lay folded beside a box of tissues. I’d have to wash the blood out of the robe later, but it was better than standing here shivering in the dark.

  Why did there have to be so many monsters in the world?

  Feeling the threat of new tears, I grabbed the needle and thread I’d been using to stitch myself back together and returned to the bedroom. Breath quickening, I went to my jacket and retrieved a small, cloth wrapped bundle. The cloth held fourteen fangs that sparkled in the lamplight as I perched on the edge of the chair and began sorting them into pairs. I pulled my necklace over my head and began stringing and knotting the fangs into place.

  A grim smile touched my lips as I worked, bits of ash and dust sifting through my fingers. Tomorrow I would rid this city of rogue vampires, and after that I’d take care of Simon Chadwick. I’d made a vow not to let the monsters victimize me or anyone else ever again.

  I kept my promises.

  Chapter 25

  “No sense leaving your weapons behind when you can find a way to hide them in plain sight.”

  -Jenna Lehane, Hunter

  I looked out the window at the gathering clouds and smiled. The sky was threatening rain, which gave me an idea. I hurried down the stairs to the inn’s reception desk, careful not to pull my stitches in my haste. Nicolas Vandenberghe was behind the counter, a ready smile on his face.

  “Hi, um, I was wondering…do you have an umbrella I can borrow?” I asked. “I don’t mind paying for it.”

  “Ja, een minuut,” he said. He left the room and came back a moment later with a long, black umbrella.

  “Thank you, um, dank u!” I said.

  I took the stairs two at a time, setting my punctured calf on fire. Back in my room, I went to the desk and opened the umbrella. Holding it upside down, I unscrewed the handle from the top of the umbrella. Next, I lifted my sheathed sword and pointed it into the space left by the missing handle. With a few quick alterations, including using my black thread to stitch the fabric to my sword’s sheath, I had what would pass on the streets for an umbrella. No sense leaving your weapons behind when you can find a way to hide them in plain sight.

  Ever see one of those umbrella’s with a sword handle? Well, that’s exactly what this looked like. Except instead of an umbrella trying to look like a sword, it was a sword that looked like an umbrella. I grinned, admiring my handiwork. I’d purchase a new umbrella for the Vandenberghes while I was out today and no one would be the wiser.

  Armed and ready to face the day, I raced back downstairs. Sofia was just coming through the door to the Vandenberghe’s apartment in the rear of the building, and she carried something that smelled heavenly. My mouth watered, and my stomach growled out loud.

  Sofia giggled and handed me a small loaf of bread, fresh from the oven.

  “You need to eat more,” she said with a warm smile. “Now go. Have fun!”

  Once on the street, I tore into the fragrant bread, cramming pieces the size of my fist into my mouth. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate. If I could find a trough of coffee, this day would be off to a perfect start.

  I turned a corner and nearly choked as I ran headlong into a man’s chest. I backed up, eyes wide as I recognized the outrageous scarf and tattered hat. Ash raised an
eyebrow at my puffed up chipmunk cheeks, and I felt my face warm. I swallowed the mouthful of bread and frowned.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  “Walking to the café,” he said. “I had a late night rescuing a damsel in distress and now I’m gasping for a cup of tea.”

  I frowned and put my fists on my hips, which wasn’t easy with a chunk of bread in one hand and a sword umbrella in the other.

  “I am not a damsel, and I was not in distress,” I said.

  Ash sighed.

  “If we are going to argue, can we at least do so with copious amount of caffeine at our disposal?” he asked.

  “Fine,” I said. “I was heading out for coffee anyway.”

  I hastily finished the last of Sofia’s bread and followed Ash as he led the way to a bakery with a few booths and tables. Once we settled into a booth by the front window, I fixed Ash with a glare.

  “Come on, spill,” I said. “You owe me details, and now is as good a time as any.”

  Ash grimaced, but nodded. He turned his attention to the sugar dispenser, flipping the little metal flap at the top up and down. The noise was like nails on a chalkboard, and I sighed with relief when the waitress brought over the coffee and tea I’d ordered. She gave me a funny look, and I wondered if I was supposed to tip her now, like a bartender.

  I dug out a few Euros and handed them to her with a polite, “keep the change.” She nodded and backed off, hurrying to help her other customers. When she turned away, Ash took a sip of his tea and cleared his throat.

  “As you’ve guessed, I wasn’t here in Bruges for university,” Ash said. “I was here for a different kind of training.”

  “You carry a sword around in your guitar case,” I said, nodding toward the case propped on the booth beside him. “You’re a Hunter.”

  I knew it had to be true. Ash hadn’t run in fear when faced with the supernatural. He hadn’t hesitated when the vampires attacked. Even so, if he’d drawn a gun or fought hand to hand, I could have kid myself that he was someone with police or military training. But he had deftly used a sword with the grace and skill reserved for few in this world.

  Ash was a Hunter.

  “Yes,” he said. “As for the guitar case, it’s a prop I use and a handy way to carry my weapons. Sometimes I even carry a guitar. Busking is a jolly good way to hide in plain sight.”

  It was true. People didn’t question why beggars and street performers lingered. They were a part of the city and therefore the perfect cover for surveillance. But his hunting methods weren’t what I wanted to talk about.

  “Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” I asked.

  People were sneaking glances at us as they passed and whispering behind the guide maps they held between us like flimsy shields. Hadn’t they ever seen two people talking before? Maybe it was Ash’s scarf. Today it was a putrid shade of yellow that made my eyeballs hurt.

  “Well, the thing is, love,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I wasn’t kidding when I said things didn’t work out for me here.”

  “You left the guild?” I asked, mouth gaping open.

  Last night I’d managed to convince myself that I’d misheard him or misunderstood what he was trying to tell me. There had been a lot going on, after all. Because what he was saying was unheard of. He took an oath. How could he leave his guild brothers and sisters? How could he abandon the mission?

  “It’s not what you think,” he said. “I am not dishonorable. I believe in the mission.”

  “If you believe in protecting humans from the evil that lurks in the shadows, then why…oh,” I said, leaning away from the table.

  I took in his off kilter smile and strange taste in fashion. I’d brushed his eccentricities off as the quirks of a music student, but now that I knew he was a former Hunter, I had to wonder. We see a lot in our line of work, most of it not easy for the human brain to process. Was Ash crazy? Just yesterday he’d worn a puke green scarf covered in frolicking zombie unicorns, after all.

  I’d seen a lot of bizarre things as a Hunter, but zombie unicorns? That was just plain nuts. There’s no such thing as a creature that eats brains and farts rainbows. I should know.

  “Bloody hell, you think I’m a raving nutter,” he said.

  “Well, are you?” I asked.

  That probably wasn’t a wise thing to ask a crazy person, but aside from dealing with a werewolf’s moods during the full moon, I had no experience with this sort of thing. It’s not like I had a lot of friends.

  I waited for his reply, but he just stared cross-eyed at a patch of sun dappled tabletop.

  “Um, is that a yes?” I asked.

  “Sorry, love,” he said, pulling a face. “I was waiting to hear what the voices in my head had to say on the subject.”

  I snorted and shook my head.

  “God you’re immature,” I said.

  “You should have seen your face,” he said. “You were right ready to take a runner.”

  “Was not,” I said.

  “Was too,” he said.

  “I was not afraid of you,” I said. “I fought each uisge last summer. You, Alistair Ashborn, do not scare me.”

  “Good,” he said with a wink. “Then let me walk you around the city. I know all the best hunting spots.”

  I was following before I realized that he’d done it again. I sighed and shook my head. Ash never did tell me why he left the Hunters’ Guild.

  Chapter 26

  “Drug users make the perfect victims for vamps.”

  -Jenna Lehane, Hunter

  One of the places Ash showed me earlier on our tour of Bruges hunting spots was Van Haecke’s Maleficium. It hadn’t looked like much in the light of day, but now there was something sinister in the way the shadows caressed the narrow entry.

  There was also something unnatural in the way the building seemed to stand untouched by time. The Maleficium backed onto a canal, but where the constant damp had taken its toll on the nightclub’s neighbors, this building remained intact. Vines aggressively dug in their roots, pulling down the other buildings stone by stone, gradually reclaiming the land along the canal.

  What was so special about the Maleficium? Was the building protected by magic?

  I fidgeted with my sword, glad at least to have it back on my hip instead of in its false umbrella sheath. That was one benefit of hunting in a place like this where the average clientele wore everything from Victorian mourning costumes to full suits of armor. The dress code seemed to dictate that so long as you were wearing black, anything goes. My sword and black hunting clothes didn’t even garner an eye blink from the club’s patrons as they sauntered past.

  Ash and I had agreed to meet here after nightfall, and so I paced the street outside the club waiting for him. I’d give him five more minutes, and then I was going inside on my own. I may have a few injuries, but that never stopped me from hunting alone in the past.

  Then again, most of my favorite hunting grounds didn’t make my skin crawl as if I was pacing in front of a tank of cockroaches. That probably had something to do with the place’s disturbing history.

  Van Haecke's Maleficium was a club for rich vamp wannabes, romantic Goths, and—if Ash was to be believed—Satanists. According to Ash, the club was originally founded by the infamous Satanist Louis Van Haecke. Van Haecke was rumored to be the man who author Joris-Karl Huysmans based his despicable character the canon Docre from the novel La-Bas, The Damned. Whether that was true or not was a matter of historical debate, but I had to admit that there was a lot of evidence of Van Haecke’s nefarious hobbies.

  It all seemed to begin with the arrival of a French woman, Berthe Courrière. Some claim that she was sent to Bruges to corrupt Van Haecke, who was chaplain of the Basilica of the Holy Blood here in Bruges. If that was her goal, it seemed to have worked. After their first meeting, Van Haecke made several trips to Paris where he was accused of celebrating black masses.

  Although the accusations of Van Haecke’s ev
il deeds were never proven during his lifetime, I still could not fathom how the man remained in such a position of power within the local church. As chaplain of the Basilica of the Holy Blood, he would have had at least limited access to the holy relic. It was a good thing that the Brotherhood of the Holy Blood kept such tight security, or this vile man might have done something truly evil.

  A hand landed on my shoulder and I spun, blade at the ready.

  “Whoa, it’s just me, love,” Ash said, holding up his hands. “I called your name, but you seemed lost in thought.”

  My cheeks flushed hot and I put my knife away.

  “You’re just lucky I didn’t gut you,” I said. “This place gives me the creeps.”

  I expected a witty comeback, but instead Ash stared at Van Haecke’s Maleficium with an uncharacteristic serious look on his face.

  “That’s because you have good instincts,” he said. “This place is owned by vampires.”

  I gasped and shook my head.

  “And you want to go in there?” I asked.

  “It’s as good a place as any to hunt vampires,” he said. “They hide in plain sight, so why can’t we do the same thing.”

  It was true that with their glamour, vampires had the perfect pale beauty to fit in with this crowd. They would be right at home in a club that encouraged its fashionable patrons to wear top hats and bustle skirts. I wasn’t so confident of a pair of Hunters strolling through the door unnoticed.

  “Are you sure they’re going to let Hunters stroll right through their front door?” I asked.

  “I happen to know that one of the local Hunters spends a good deal of time here,” he said with a frown. “Everyone has vices.”

  And the Maleficium catered to vices, of that I had no doubt.

  “Okay,” I said. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair, for once glad of its shocking red color. It seemed to be a popular color for many of the women entering the building, though mine was probably the only natural hair in the lot. “This is your old turf. How do you want to do this?”