“I’m at Luke’s, trying to get him to leave town for a little while. You?” Our bond allowed me to see through her eyes so I didn’t really need to ask, but I was trying to respect her boundaries. It was hard, something about old dogs and new tricks, but I was getting there.
“I’m on my way home for a little sack time. I left your girl at the Hyatt House downtown. She’s registered under the name Mary Jane Watson.”
“Like in Spiderman?”
“Apparently she’s a comic book nerd and a vampire hunter. Who would have guessed?”
“I suppose the two go hand in hand. What’s the plan?” I asked.
“Like I said, I’m going to sleep for a while, then get back at it in the morning. By then forensics will have everything from your dead vampires and we can try to figure out where this guy is operating out of. Then if we’re lucky, we can stage a daytime raid.”
“You know that doesn’t really matter, right? Vampires don’t really sleep all day. Luke sleeps because he prefers it to the reminder of being stuck indoors, but he can function in daytime just fine if he has to. And I bet a SWAT team breaking down the door qualifies as ‘has to’.”
“Well, shit, then. I guess I’ll just let you go first, then. Meet me at the station at 10. We’ll see what we can dig up on Augustus’ location and make a plan from there.”
“Deal. I’ll see you there.” I pressed a button on the screen and slid the phone back into my jeans.
“So you and your little human think you’re going after Augustus Renfield on your own? Are you delusional or just stupid?” Luke asked.
“Not the first time you’ve asked me that question, Uncle. And not the first time I’ve ignored it. Can I crash here for the night? Between fighting vampires in the morgue, fighting vampires in the car park, and fighting a vampire hunter, I’m beat.”
“You must be tired, Master Quincy,” Ren remarked.
“Why’s that?”
“You called it a car park. You never let your British show unless you’re extremely tired, or around a bunch of Englishmen.”
I chuckled. “Or drunk, Renfield. I get very British when I drink, too.” I went upstairs to my room and stripped down for a shower. After a long shower under steaming water, I lay awake on top of my sheets thinking for a long time.
Seeing Gabby Van Helsing brought back a lot of memories and sent my thoughts spinning down corridors in my mind that had long been deserted. I flashed back to that night watching old Abraham pass on; I remembered birthdays and Christmases with his family, then more birthdays and Christmases with just my family, then the one Christmas we had between my mother’s death and my father’s passing. I remembered burying my parents, my brothers, every friend I ever had. It was a melancholy parade of funerals that marched across my memory until the sun rose and I got up to take another shower and meet Flynn.
I had just pulled on my black jeans when there was a knock at my door. “Come in.”
Renfield opened the door and stepped in with a glass of orange juice. “Good morning, Master Quincy. I brought you some juice.”
“Thanks, Ren, but I could have gotten it myself. I’m heading down in a few minutes anyway.”
“I understand that, sir, but I wanted to ask you something first. Something…of a personal nature.”
“Something you didn’t want my uncle to hear you ask me,” I clarified.
“I don’t want you to think I’m keeping secrets from him, sir, it’s just that…”
“Go ahead, Ren. I’m something of an expert on keeping secrets from Uncle Luke. I know you’d never do anything to endanger him.”
“Of course not, it’s nothing like that. It’s this new vampire, sir. I’m worried.”
I looked at Ren. He didn’t look worried, but he never did. Renfield was the most unflappable human being I’d ever met, and I’m really old, so I’ve met a lot of people. “What are you worried about, Ren?”
“He’s scared, sir.”
“Luke?”
“Yes, sir. It took me a little while to recognize it because I’ve never seen the symptoms, but he’s honestly frightened of this vampire and his challenge.”
I sat down on my bed and started lacing up my Doc Martens, noticing that Ren had not only shined my boots in the few hours I’d been asleep, he’d also replaced the worn lace in my right boot, emptied the pockets of the jeans I’d been wearing, put all that crap on my dresser, and either bought me a new duster or just pulled one from a magical leather duster supply he has somewhere in Luke’s house.
I thought about what he said for a minute, then looked up at him. “I don’t think he’s afraid that Gus will hurt him, or kill him, or somehow win. I think he’s afraid that he’s actually going to have to do something about Gus once and for all. That he’s too far gone to save, and there’s no more last chances. I think that’s the thing he’s most afraid of—that he’s going to have to destroy someone he once cared about quite a bit.”
“He really is a soft touch, isn’t he?”
“For an undead monster who lives by consuming the life force of others, yeah, he’s a real teddy bear.”
“I don’t find that funny, Master Quincy,” Ren sniffed.
“I wasn’t joking, Ren,” I let my voice get hard. “I know you think you know Luke. I know that right now you do know him better than all but two or three people in the world. You know what he likes for breakfast, how he likes his blood mixed with a little cabernet so he can pretend to be human, what TV shows he prefers, even what period of art he really cares for. But you’ve got to understand, underneath all of that is a hard-core motherfucker who did not become the thing mother warned their children about in Eastern Europe for decades by handing out candy canes at the Christmas parade.
“When he wants to be, when he needs to be, he can drop all that ‘Uncle Luke’ bullshit in a hot second and turn into Count Motherfucking Dracula, Vlad the Goddamn Impaler, Lord of the Undead and One Hundred Per Cent Baddest Son of a Bitch on the Planet. If you forget, ever, for even a second, that your employer can rip your heart out of your chest with his bare hands and drink the blood from it while it still beats hot in his palm, it may be the last mistake you make.”
“You don’t think he’d hurt me, do you? I’ve been nothing but loyal and faithful.”
“And as long as that’s the case, you’ll never have a problem. But Gus? He turned on my uncle. He felt betrayed, and betrayed Luke in turn. So no matter how much it pains Uncle Luke to do it, he will bring down hell upon the head of Augustus Renfield, and God help anyone who gets in his way. Because this ain’t no movie BS. This is the real deal, and Dracula is gonna get biblical on a motherfucker. That’s what you’ve been noticing. It’s not fear. It’s regret moving into resignation at the knowledge that after all the time and all the second chances, he’s going to have to solve Gus for good.”
Chapter 8
I first met Augustus in Paris after the war. World War II, that is, which is the only war Paris has known in my lifetime. I had spent some time in the end of the war working with the French Resistance, and I was making my way back to my apartment late one night when I heard a muffled scream from an alley.
I ran into the alley, which might have been more of a stumble given the amount of good French wine I’d consumed, and saw a gaunt man holding a woman against a wall. To most normal people, I’m sure it looked like they were making out. But I knew the difference between two people kissing and one person drinking blood from another’s neck.
“Merde,” I muttered, and ran down the alley. I picked up a piece of lumber lying on the ground by a wall undergoing repairs and swung it hard across the vampire’s shoulders. The board broke into two pieces with a resounding crack, and I shook my hands at the sting.
The vampire slowly drew himself up to his full height and turned to face me. “That was very rude,” it said. “I don’t abide rudeness during my meals.” The face he turned to me was an almost normal face, except for the pallor. He had mousy brown hai
r that parted on one side and hung down a little too long in the front. He wore a brown tweed suit and a striped shirt, and there was just a hint of blood on his brown bowtie. His features were preternaturally narrow, with cheekbones reaching almost to his hairline and the sunken cheeks of a man who hadn’t fed in months. But there was no shortage of food in Paris after the blitz, what with the orphans and widows and homeless.
He reached out and took my shirtfront in his hand, and I marveled at his fingers, the longest and boniest appendages I’d ever seen. He pulled me to him and locked gazes with me. “I think you shall become my meal since you interrupted this one. She’ll never taste the same.”
He turned his attention to the young woman he’d been drinking from when I happened by. “Goodbye, my dear.” He then flicked out his other hand and ripped her throat out, without ever losing his bemused, slightly surprised expression. Her eyes went wide, and she opened her mouth to scream, but it’s hard to do more than gurgle with your vocal chords ripped out. She collapsed against a wall, crimson pouring down her bodice and covering her body as she died.
“You bastard,” I growled. “You could have fed from her without killing her.”
“I could have,” he agreed, “but why? She was food. I was finished with her. Wasteful, I admit, but I don’t believe she would remain fresh in this heat.”
He still had a grip on my shirtfront, but it was loose in his fingers. I reached up to knock his hand away, but he caught my wrist in those skeletal fingers and shook me, hard. My head whipsawed back and forth, and my wine threatened to make a surprise appearance all over this vampire’s dandy bowtie.
“What are you doing here, human? Do you blindly rush into death often? I would expect that to be a poor choice.”
“Human is only part of the picture, vampire. I’m a little more than you’re accustomed to,” I said, pulling my wrist free and lifting him off his feet with a short uppercut. Gus staggered back a few steps, giving me all the room I needed. Or so I thought. I charged him, my shoulder low to catch him under the ribs and smear his accent all over the opposite wall.
Except he wasn’t there. He spun out of the way faster than anyone I’d ever seen, and I learned to fight dirty from friggin’ Dracula. He landed four quick shots to my midsection, and I heard a sharp crack as each punch landed, signaling a cavalcade of broken ribs and pain for me.
I dropped to one knee, the pain in my ribs making breathing all but impossible. I felt the whistle of a fist through the air and rolled to one side, barely avoiding the double-fisted blow that would have broken my neck. I looked up into the mad face of my attacker, and there was something strangely familiar there. He stomped down, and I caught his foot with both hands and shoved him backward. He toppled over onto his back, and we both leapt to our feet. We threw punch after punch, faster than any human could ever punch or block, but it took less than a minute for the pain in my ribs to sap the strength from my blows and the speed from my blocks.
I was just a hair too late getting my arm up, and he flicked out a jab that caught me flush on the point of the chin. I saw stars, birds whirling around me head, the whole bit as I sank to my butt in the alley. He stood over me, droplets of blood-sweat beading his brow.
“What are you?” he asked. “You’re right, you’re not human. Or at least not completely. But you’re not a vampire, nor a were of any type I’ve encountered.”
“What he is, Augustus, is my nephew. And thus off-limits for your appetites.” Uncle Luke’s voice came from the mouth of the alley. I have never before and rarely since been so happy that my uncle, the blood-sucking Lord of the Undead, has an overprotective streak. I peered past Gus to watch Luke stride down the alley, his raincoat billowing out behind him like the long cloaks he favored in the movies. He stopped about ten feet from us, just out of leaping range for his psychotic former manservant.
I caught a flicker of movement out of the corner of one eye and turned my attention back to Gus. I drew in a sharp and extremely painful breath at what I saw. Where he used to look like a harmless, if a little lecherous, skinny man in a boring suit, now his eyes were wild and rolling in his head like a dog caught in a bear trap. More bloody sweat poured from his brow, the crimson staining his shirt collar. Something, I couldn’t tell what—fear, rage, excitement—vibrated through him like electricity.
“You!” the gaunt man hissed at Uncle Luke.
“Me,” Luke replied calmly. “I see you found some measure of control over your abilities and have made something of a life for yourself. I am glad. I never wished you ill, Augustus. I just didn’t think this life was the best for you.”
“You didn’t want the competition, Sire. You didn’t want anyone else to taste the power, the sweet, sweet power that comes with the blood. But I did, yes, I have drank from the spring of eternal life and I have felt the power run through my veins! And now you can’t stop me, Sire. No one can stop me!”
He sprang at Uncle Luke, all gangly arms and claw-like fingers, like some crazed spider flying through the alley. Luke simply swung a hand up and slapped him out of the air. Gus bounced off one brick wall and then crashed to the broken cobblestones, writhing. Luke reached down and helped me up, then opened his wrist with a thumbnail.
“Drink,” he said, thrusting his arm at me.
I gaped at him. I’d drank from Luke before, but only when mortally wounded. This was painful, but nothing life threatening, so I didn’t understand why he was so insistent.
“Drink, Quincy,” he repeated, his voice an urgent hiss. “Drink, then run. Augustus is powerful and completely insane. He will have no restraint, and now that he knows we are close, he will destroy you if given the opportunity. You must heal, and then you must return to our quarters and pack our things. If I do not return by sunrise, flee. I will find you.”
I drank, taking in the stolen life force of Dracula himself. Drinking blood is gross, let’s start there. It’s coppery, thick, and nasty shit. And I only know this because of some ill-conceived experimentation Uncle Luke and I did in 1918, after both my brothers died in the influenza epidemic that killed a good portion of, well, the world. We wondered why I could visit them and not even get sick, and then it occurred to Luke that I hadn’t really aged much in the past few years. I was twenty-two and still looked fifteen, a useful trait with the ladies, less so when drinking in bars. They weren’t all that strict, but the more I looked like a little kid, the less likely I was to get served from the top shelf.
Anyway, drinking human or animal blood is nasty, but drinking vampire blood? Let’s just say I understand how people fall under the thrall of unscrupulous vamps. It’s like the very best red wine, but sweeter, and the rush you get is like no drug I’ve ever tried. And I’ve tried pretty much every drug that can be created without a chemistry set, and some that can’t.
I let the warm liquid flow across my teeth and down my throat, feeling my ribs knit back together, all my bruises fade, and even feel a little indigestion clear up. The cut on my chin from shaving that morning even healed in seconds. I tore myself free from Luke’s arm with a profound sadness and feeling of loss. I licked my thumb and ran it over his wrist, using the magic in my spit and his blood to heal the wound.
“Now go,” he said, wiping his arm dry against his cloak.
I turned to do just that, but it was too late, Gus was on us again, and this time he was equally intent on killing me as he was destroying Luke. But he couldn’t handle both of us at top form—not many things can, honestly. He charged me, rightly considering me to be the weaker of the two threats, but I was well into my magical studies by that point, so I focused my will and said “Ventos!” I flung my hand in his direction, and a whirlwind picked up every piece of debris in the alley and pelted him with it.
It was a petty distraction, of course, but I just need to get him to close his eyes for an instant. He did, and I dropped the spell. Luke didn’t run by me, he didn’t leap past me, he jumped over me in a flying kick and took Gus square in the chest.
“Run!” Luke shouted at me, but I didn’t. Why bother, right? We had this guy dead to rights now that we were healthy and working together, didn’t we?
Well, no. Luke’s kick caught the off-balance Augustus square and knocked him flat, with Luke rolling through to come up on his feet at the other end of the alley, but Gus popped right back up with not so much as a scratch on him and dove for me, his fangs out and aiming for my throat.
I flung up a hasty shield spell, just enough to slow him down for a second or two, but that’s all Luke needed. He grabbed Gus from behind and smashed his face into the cobblestones at my feet.
“Run, damn you, or I’ll never be able to concentrate!” Luke yelled at me. This time I did as I was told—I ran. I hauled ass back to the small apartment house where we had three rooms, and I woke up the current (and brand-new) Renfield.
The poor guy hadn’t yet gotten used to being up all night and sleeping a few hours here and there during the day, so he was in his nightshirt when he answered the pounding on his door.
“Master Quincy? What is wrong?” he asked through bleary eyes.
I said one word, the one word that ever since Luke and I belly-laughed our way through Frankenstein had meant “pack all our shit and be ready to move.” I looked at Renfield, and I said, “Pitchfork.”
He goggled at me for a moment, then he drug up “Pitchfork” in his memory, and his eyes got wide. I reached out and caught the lamp he nearly dropped as he turned to go back into the room.
“Renfield, are we clear? We are Pitchfork.”
Renfield turned to me, all signs of sleepiness gone from his face. “Indeed, Master Quincy. We are Pitchfork.” Then he turned back to his room and started packing. Luke made it to the apartment just before sunup, and Renfield and I loaded him into the limousine we had specially prepared for just such an occurrence. It had a separate passenger compartment for Luke that was completely light tight, as well as a regular compartment that was big enough for two other passengers. Renfield drove, and I started the journey back in Luke’s compartment with him.
Hell on Heels - A Quincy Harker, Demon Hunter Novella Page 5