Dead Hearts (Book 3): Vengeful Hearts

by Susanne L. Lambdin

  “Have a seat in back,” the guard said. He closed the doors and returned to his post.

  Vampires filled the chapel. Renovations morphed the Protestant chapel, which had been stripped of its religious icons and transformed into something dark and macabre. Thirteen mahogany pews lined the room. Black candles sat aflame on iron stands towering behind an altar. A gold throne christened a round dais, raised high enough to overlook the assembly. The pews were backed by World War I propellers, reassembled to look like crossed swords. The pinnacled ceiling soared 99-feet-high, with stained glass windows between the tetrahedrons. A golden gargoyle perched on a ledge above the altar. The gray-white terrazzo floor was covered with black rugs or animal pelts, and a number of ancient statues stood as sentinels against the walls—grotesques, with giant wings and sharp claws.

  Shadowguard occupied the first row, and Logan sat alone on the last row. He leaned forward and tapped the shoulder of a woman in a red cloak. Her silver-haired companion glanced at Logan as he whispered into her ear. The woman spun and flashed her fangs.

  “I just wanted to know what was going on,” Logan whispered. “Is there a wedding?”

  “Silent. It’s a ceremony. New recruits are being inducted into the Shadowguard.” The woman gave Logan a hard look. “I don’t know why the Kaiser wants you in the Shadowguard. I know who you are, Agent Logan.”

  “Yep, I’m the ‘Man of the Year.’” Logan sat back and crossed one leg over the other. The Kaiser entered through a side door, wearing a blood-red robe covered with symbols

  Logan recognized as demonic. The winged shadow followed behind. Master and shadow came to a halt before a sleek marble altar.

  The audience remained quiet as the Kaiser claimed the throne. He clapped his hands and twelve vampires in black trench coats filed in and knelt before the altar. A bald priest robed in black followed the initiates. The priest placed a jeweled goblet on the altar beside three human skulls and an assortment of bones. The priest faced the twelve vampires and spread his hands out across the altar.

  “Tonight, you will take your oaths to join the Brotherhood of the Shadowguard. Each of you will swear faithful service to the Kaiser. To him alone you will offer your worship as the one true power on Earth. To him alone you will offer your lives in sacrifice. To him alone you now belong from this day forth, until your last. Now repeat the oath.”

  The vampires repeated the priest’s words. The vow was completed with, “We will not lie, steal, or cheat, nor tolerate among us anyone who does.”

  Logan had seen those words printed in many places around the Citadel. It had been the motto of the Air Force cadets. The priest approached and offered the jeweled goblet to each vampire, who in turn partook. With every initiate, he dipped his finger in the cup and traced a symbol upon their foreheads. Each one stood and bowed before the Kaiser, then exited the chapel.

  The silver-haired vampire turned to glare at Logan with bright, violet eyes. The color of his eyes marked him as one of Salustra’s children. Logan remembered meeting Jean-Luc at one of the Kaiser’s dinner parties.

  “You were to have joined the new initiates,” Jean-Luc said. “Refusing to be turned vampire will not win you any friends here, human. You will only get one more chance. Don’t blow it.”

  Logan didn’t need to be reminded he was the only human present in the chapel. The side door opened once more. Two guards in red ushered in a girl in her early teens, dressed in white, and they forced her to kneel at the altar. The priest approached her with the goblet, and paused to stroke her head. Logan nearly came out of his seat when the priest slashed her throat with a dagger. Blood spattered on the altar. The guards held the girl’s body as the priest filled the goblet with blood.

  “Bring me the virgin’s blood,” the Kaiser said in a deep, masculine voice. He sat forward in his chair, reaching for the goblet. The priest offered it to his master. “In my name, I accept this blood sacrifice.” He slurped from the goblet, sending drops streaming down his chin. He handed the goblet to the priest and waved him away. “Now, bring me the next recruit.”

  “You’re next,” Jean-Luc said, turning around again to annoy Logan. “You are to become a vampire tonight. I came here to watch.”

  Logan felt far from polite. “Up yours, pal.”

  A man in a red, hooded robe appeared at the end of Logan’s row and motioned for Logan to follow. He stood, trying to get a look under the hood, but then flinched when he saw two gleaming green eyes. The cloaked figure remained at his side, silent, terrifying, and smelling worse than sewage. Logan stood at the altar as the priest approached him. They are mistaken if they think I am going to drink from that goblet, Logan thought to himself. He lifted his head higher when he realized he was taller than both the cloaked figure and the priest.

  “I suggest you wipe that smirk off your face,” the priest said.

  Logan looked beyond the priest and met the Kaiser’s gaze. “You fixed the place up real nice.” His smile widened. “Trick or treat?”

  The Kaiser jumped off his throne. Someone in the audience gasped—their master never left his throne to address a subject. “Kneel!”

  The figure in red moved fast. Logan’s arm was twisted behind his back and he was forced to the ground. The priest faced Logan, holding the knife and goblet.

  “Take another step, friend, and I’ll break your neck,” Logan said.

  “What’s that?” The Kaiser came from behind the altar to stand before Logan. He leveled his gaze with Logan’s. “This is a Maker. He’s going to turn you tonight. Isn’t this what you wanted, Logan? To be a Shadowguard?”

  “I changed my mind.”

  “If you refuse to join my army and become a vampire, then what further use are you to me?”

  Logan looked at the cloaked figure. “Mind letting go, pal? We’re talking here.”

  The Kaiser nodded and the hooded figure released him. Logan scrambled to his feet. The Kaiser was shorter than Logan, but his dark shadow much taller, an ominous cloud behind its master. Logan reconsidered his options and for once remained quiet.

  The Kaiser began to laugh, and the congregation joined him. The crowd grew silent when the Kaiser stepped forward and slapped Logan across the face.

  “Other cheek too?” Logan asked, unable to hold his tongue. The next blow knocked him on his back. He pushed up on an elbow.

  “You try my patience, Logan. Since you were a boy I have dreamed of this night, but you’ve grown cynical and churlish. Now get up, I weary of your games. Why do you insist that Dr. Leopold study flowers? Does a flower hold the answer I’m looking for, Logan? Really?”

  The red cloaked figure pulled Logan to his feet. The shadow hovered over the altar, blocking light from the candles and plunging the chapel into complete darkness. Logan knew he was experiencing pure evil. Glowing eyes and clouded stars above offered the only light.

  “Perhaps it’s my fault for indulging you all these years. Perhaps I’m at fault for not making expectations clear. However, a wise ruler does not slaughter those who may yet be useful.” The Kaiser held out his hand. An onyx ring, carved with a circle encompassing two curved arrows, engulfed his left index finger. “Kiss my ring and all will be forgiven.”

  Feeling sick, but not having any other options, Logan kissed the ring. The strange shadow backed off, sliding behind the throne, and the light from the candles shone forth once more.

  “All better now,” the Kaiser said. “You will learn obedience, Logan. If you ever dishonor me again, I will put you in the arena. Now get out. Return to your cage.”

  Logan turned and walked the aisle. A Shadowguard waited for him at the last row. He felt his luck change. It was Bechtel. “Am I to go with you?”

  “Keep your mouth shut and follow me human.”

  A black Cadillac waited outside. Bechtel entered the passenger side after shoving Logan into the backseat. A young female vampire was driving. Adorned with pink lipstick and a French manicure, she was the prettiest Shadowguard by far.


  A stern look from Bechtel kept Logan from making any jokes. As they drove away from the Crystal Palace, he hoped they would keep going. Disappointment set in when they drove down a street, made a few turns, and ended up back at the science building.

  “Oh, come on. I wasn’t that rude. You saw them murder that poor girl. Like I’d want to wear the trench coat after that,” Logan said. “It’s not that I have higher aspirations, but I don’t want to be a vampire. I enjoy eating steak and a fine salad. All you guys eat is popcorn and drink blood.”

  “You’re an idiot,” the driver said. “Now get out of my car.”

  “Who is she, Bechtel? She’s bossy. I like her.”

  “Get out.” The female driver turned toward her companion. “Bechtel, please. I know all about this human, and I might bite him. He’s rude.”

  “Yes he is,” Bechtel said. “I’ll take him.”

  Bechtel refused Logan her name, but he grasped her arm with affection, like a close friend. Very close friend, Logan noted when the woman leaned over and kissed Bechtel’s cheek. Bechtel pulled back, though he was smiling when he got out of the car. Logan jumped out and slipped on the ice. No one caught him. He clung to the door, until he gained his footing, glaring at Bechtel.

  “This is the lab. Why did you bring me here?”

  Logan steadied himself and traversed the sidewalk with caution as Bechtel accompanied him to the front door. He opened the door and stepped inside. The vampire followed as they walked toward the lab.

  “You don’t approve of my methods, I get that. But I am consistent. Rude, unpleasant, and I do tend to make jokes at inappropriate times,” Logan stated.

  “You said you’d help us,” Bechtel said. “It’s obvious you’re not serious, nor do you care that you jeopardized everyone’s safety by mocking the Kaiser. You have three days, Logan. On the third evening, I need you to create a distraction. Hold the attention of the Shadowguard long enough so I can get you and Cadence’s people out of here. If you want to stay, tell me now and I’ll do this alone.”

  Logan removed his wool coat and draped it over his arm. “This isn’t personal, Bechtel. I didn’t mean to make you mad. I’ll figure out a way to provide a diversion for you, but make sure you don’t leave me behind. After tonight, I don’t think I have many more days to live as a human. I want out of here.”

  “Blow up the lab,” Bechtel said. “You know the ingredients to mix and have everything at your fingertips. Just remember it’s not to blow until Friday, three days from now. Around dinner time would be perfect. If you do that, I’ll help you escape.”

  “Won’t be a problem. I have a knack for blowing things up.”

  The vampire smiled, revealing tiny fangs. “Be careful. Dr. Leopold and his kind dislike humans. Every demon does. They are cunning and clever. Do not underestimate the Vescali, Logan.”

  Logan wanted to run in the other direction now. “Are you serious? You know what they are? They’re a myth, and far worse than any vampire. If the Kaiser is depending on them, it’s no wonder he never gets what he wants.”

  Bechtel caught Logan by the collar. He was furious. The vampire slammed Logan into the wall, who laughed as he noticed the guards watching. Bechtel said nothing and stormed off. The guards stopped laughing. Logan threw his shoulders back, gave his neck a jerk and opened the door. The stench was overwhelming. Worse than usual, thought Logan. He tossed his coat over a chair and slid on a white lab coat.

  Several lab attendants looked up as Logan meandered around the room. He studied labels on bottles and boxes, mentally rehearsing the ingredients needed to construct a chemical bomb. He pocketed a watch, some wire, and a few other items before approaching a group in the back of the lab, as they peered into a cage.

  “Logan? Is that you?” asked the female occupant.

  Barbarella crouched at the far side of the cage. She held a blood-splattered lab coat against her nude body. The attendants stared at Logan, muttering to each other when he gave them a dirty look. They moved away and Logan scanned Barbarella, assessing her injuries. Her arm was injured and several fingers were missing.

  “You have to help me. Pallaton is no longer my guardian. That bastard Bechtel now owns Red Hawk and Cricket. I don’t know what they did with the Dynamic Duo. All of Pallaton’s fighters were given to someone else, but they won’t tell me why. Tell these idiots that I can’t regenerate missing fingers.” Barbarella held out her injured hand. “They think I can regrow fingers. But you know I can’t do that!” Her voice cracked with desperation.

  “What about Luna?” Logan asked. He was fond of the werepuma.

  “The Kaiser gave her to Raven as a pet.” Barbarella inched forward. “I heard the guards talking. They Star said escaped last night. You have to help me escape.”

  “I’ll figure something out. Wrap that rag around your hand so you don’t lose any more blood. These demons aren’t interested in a naked woman. Trust me.”

  Logan turned around and glared at the medical staff, wishing he had a gun. He would shoot every one of them.

  “Where is Dr. Leopold? Haven’t you idiots figured out by now that you can’t slice up modern-day therianthropes and expect them to regrow a limb? This isn’t the motherland, gentlemen. Maybe you’re used to seeing regeneration, but she’s not an Old One.”

  An ugly man with a skinny neck and wrinkled skin glared at Logan. He appeared to be in charge. Logan had not seen him before, not that he paid close attention to Leopold’s people. Under the fluorescents, he could see blue veins bulging near the surface of his skin. The lab assistant was bald, like all Vescali, and possessed no pupils in his black eyes. Logan felt the same disgust when Leopold glared at him.

  “I’ve just returned from the Crystal Palace,” Logan said. “The Kaiser isn’t pleased with your lack of results. I revealed to him that Dr. Leopold is stalling. You’ll make him an immortal vampire wife before Friday, or you will be punished.”

  “I’m Trotsky. I’m in charge here, and you’re lying.”

  “Then maybe you’ll listen to me when I say the key to controlling the virus is a flower called foxglove, also known as dead man’s fingers. In small amounts, it can kill a human, but used with care, it can save lives. It contains cardiac glycosides and during the ingestion phase it produces sugar and aglycones, affecting the heart muscles. I believe this is the flower the bee that stung Cadence collected nectar from, and it altered her metabolism. Of course I’m not a scientist, but I do read books,” he said, on a roll. “I also object to your treatment of that werepuma. Take another finger and I’ll cut your balls off. That is, if you nasty little goblins have any.”

  Logan expected at least one of the Vescali to take interest in foxglove, but not one blinked. He gave up trying to educate them and wondered if giving Trotsky a beating might be what the doctor ordered.

  “The girl is ours to do with as we want,” Trotsky said.

  “Barbarella is a Class B fighter,” Logan said. “Pallaton is her guardian.”

  “Pallaton doesn’t own slaves anymore.” The monster eyed the teen, gleaming. “He lost that right when Captain Highbrow defeated his army this morning. He’s yet to return. It’s assumed Pallaton is dead, so his slaves were given to Bechtel. Bechtel didn’t want this one. You know how vampires are.”

  “If you creeps had any brains, you’d keep her as a fighter and make money. Money have any interest to you? Don’t you like to buy things? Booze, drugs, women? You don’t care about a cure.”

  Trotsky hissed and curled his hands into fists. A vein in his forehead turned bright purple and started to throb. “What we do with the werepuma is our concern. Things you find valuable do not interest us, Agent Logan. Only science holds any interest to our kind. We have given her a new serum to see if she can now regenerate. If it disturbs you so much, I’ll inject her with a synthetic version of chameleon blood and see if you like her as a little cat. One drop to a therianthrope and they never turn human again.”

  Logan had heard e
nough. He grasped Trotsky by the throat, catching the demon off guard, and squeezed with all his might. He had to know what demons were capable of. There were dozens of species of demons, but the Vescali were not known for strength. The demon’s eyes bugged out of his head, and his cheeks turned bright purple. Feeling something pressing against his ribs, Logan looked down and noticed a scalpel sticking out of his side. It wasn't deep. Releasing the demon, Logan stepped back and pulled the scalpel out. As the demon’s cruel eyes glinted, Logan threw off his lab coat, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small knife. With a flick of his thumb, the blade flew open, and Logan snarled as he sliced into the demon’s throat. Blood spewed as the demon screamed.

  “Do…something,” Trotsky gurgled to his companions.

  Logan flashed his knife and a vicious smile. No one came near him. They surrounded Trotsky, watching with fascination as he collapsed to his knees. Logan landed a kick in the side and reveled in the demon’s groan.

  “Go pick some flowers, you little imps. Chameleon blood covers this blade. It’s toxic to Vescali. Then again, let’s just watch him die, shall we?”

  “Interesting,” chimed one of the attendants. “One of you get a blood sample from Trotsky and analyze it. And someone locate Dr. Leopold. Tell him we have a breakthrough. We should have tested this on Trotsky days ago.”

  The demon attendant looked at Logan and smiled, not at all upset. Logan stared at the rest of the workers in the lab. Each one turned toward him and smiled, revealing mouths full of shark-like teeth.

  Logan kept his knife raised. “I take it you don’t like this guy?”

  “Not really. He’s a brown-noser,” the attendant said.

  “Yes, a brown-noser,” they all repeated.

  Trotsky stopped moaning. His face turned a blotchy red, and he appeared to be running a fever. Lifting him from the floor, lab workers carried Trotsky to an operating table and swarmed him, leaving Logan unattended. He rushed to unlock Barbarella’s cage.