Endless Night (Dylan Hart Odyssey of The Occult Series)

by Gilmore, R. M.

  So many gory and horrifying images locked in my head, why am I not a fucking basket case? Oh that’s right, I am. I killed two little vampire boys to save my life and here I am, in the lion’s den, ready to head out to party with a gaggle of blood drinkers. Fucking certifiable.

  More voices came into the room behind me. I turned to find three more of the welcoming committee greeting Malcolm and Tatum. It seemed Cyrus knew the drill and stood to the right and back a step from Big Red. I hated that bastard. I didn’t even know why, alright, I have a few moderately valid reasons, but I could not stand Malcolm McTavish.

  The three newbies kissed hands and cheeks and made their bows. Tatum followed suit and it seemed to me like this was not her first rodeo, or blood bath, whatever. Of the three, one was female and the other two were male. The female looked so much like Dominika I had to look twice and stare really hard to make sure it wasn’t and even then I listened really hard for the devilish accent before I could be certain it wasn’t her. The two men were such opposites they reminded me of Laurel and Hardy. One was short, shorter than me, and so blonde and white he might’ve been albino. He wore period garb down to the ruffled ascot and spats on his shoes. The other reminded me of Rasputin with his long black hair and piercing eyes. He stood a good foot taller than his buddy and even towered over Malcolm who stood a good foot taller than me. That was one big jar of mayonnaise, let me tell you.

  Malcolm McTavish, Ronald McDonald’s gigantic brother.

  After a few moments of ogling, the tall one looked in my direction. It was the first time any of them noticed me since I’d attempted to introduce myself to the thing in the boots. Without a smile, a nod, any kind of acknowledgment, the tall guy stared at me with intense eyes. Out of awkwardness, I gave a little smile. Nothing. A few seconds passed and I turned my body a bit to look behind me in the hopes maybe he was looking off at something I couldn’t see. Nothing. I shoved my hands in my pockets and looked back at the man. Still, he stared. Nervously, my eyes moved from his gaze. I raised my curious brows, made a fart sound with my lips, and turned on my heel to walk away. Nowhere in particular, just anywhere but in the direct eye shot of that guy.

  Hands still shoved in my pockets, I moved on, wandering mindlessly around the room. Everything you had ever seen in movies about modern vampires was wrong. There was nothing posh or chic in the general vicinity. Only furniture like Malcolm had at the office of his magazine, Sween. Oversized claw-footed tables, Tiffany style lamps, and extravagant fainting couches.

  These people are really into lounge chairs and fainting couches.

  Off to the far left of the front door, a squared archway opened into a separate room. A parlor I believe they called it. A small sitting room with overly fancy furniture like my grandma had in her front room. Only, we were never allowed to sit on that furniture. These assholes lazed on them like they were in an opium den.

  All over the parlor, Victorian clad vampires lounged about chatting and mingling among themselves. No one noticed little ol’ me peaking my head around the arched entryway. Beautiful rust--colored curtains cascaded from the ceiling and draped around the doorway. Each hooked with a loop to the inside wall.

  I stood in awe at all the beautiful people lying about. I made a bet with myself that not a one of them held down a normal job. Like the wake up with the sun and actually work kind. Most of them looked like they could be featured in Malcolm’s magazine right along with Dominika and Cyrus. Perfect makes me want to punch infants.

  I glanced over my shoulder toward the entrance where my so-called friends still stood like a group of walking, talking dildos. Malcolm continued some kind of ritual greeting with those that welcomed them into the home. Lots of unnecessary bowing, shaking and kissing if you asked me. I was more interested in what was going on in the room full of neat furniture and bloodsuckers.

  I rolled my eyes and moved them back to the scene before me. All those perfect little bloodsuckers breathing perfectly good air and leaving little for the rest of us hacks. A couple sat just adjacent from me, about fifteen feet away. The girl was young. If I had to guess, I’d say just this side of legal. The man she was cradled against looked like he could be Cyrus’s Viking brother. Sweeping stark blonde hair sat atop a very lovely pale face, brushing a set of equally blonde brows. I’d been standing at the edge of the entrance to the parlor staring into the abyss of lazing Sanguinarians for well over three minutes and not one person, or whatever, noticed me. Until I took the chance to allow my gaze to linger on the blonde version of Cyrus. I was innocently admiring his perfection when he caught my gaze. A nasty looking snarl spread across his powder-white face. The sudden change to his expression sent a chill up my legs and into the back of my head before an aching in my stomach triggered my spidey sense. The once perfect specimen of Nordic manliness transformed into a grinning wraith. My breath caught and I took a step back. One of the loungers left his position near the curtains and pulled a thickly wound cord. The curtains closed with little effort and the manic blonde on the other side was out of sight.

  A fear hit my heart and made it skip a beat. A fear I had forgotten in recent months. A fear I learned to appreciate while hunting the killer of so many dead girls. A fear that told me to respect it or feel its wrath.

  When I first stepped foot in Midnights Dream, I nearly exploded from holding in the laughter, but I later learned not all of those in the scene were horrendous losers offing hookers at every turn. In fact, some were quite stoic and some were fucking frightening. They may not explode in the sunlight or fear garlic, but immortal or not, one of them just might kill you where you stood.

  Enter Deadly Bitch.

  Chapter Four

  As soon as the curtains closed, it seemed as though I was being hurried off to the farthest corner of the house. I was told it was my room for the weekend. I worried that I was being taken to a darkened room to be slaughtered and offered up to the vampire gods as sacrifice. Malcolm led the way up the big curved staircase and along the landing on the second floor. We walked past at least two doors on the way, all closed. Of course, I loved snooping. What could I say, I was curious. You know what they said about curiosity. Yeah, I hate cats.

  I’d lost Tatum on the first floor, but Cyrus stayed by Malcolm’s side like a good little puppy. I was moderately thankful for that. I’d hate to see what would happen should Malcolm and I be left alone to our own devices.

  Dragging my rolling case behind me, I followed the fiery haired vampire boy to a second set of stairs. Cyrus had so kindly carried my messenger bag, but I wished he hadn’t. All this chivalry was beginning to make me feel uncomfortable.

  Fuck that, let the bastard carry your bags. What’s it hurting aside from his masculinity?

  The second set of stairs was much less extravagant than the first and led to a mundane hallway much narrower than the second floor. I assumed this was once where they hid the ‘help’. I was just about to voice a formal complaint until I heard Malcolm tell Cyrus his room was just across the hall from mine. The ever shrinking portion of my inner psyche that told me to stay away from Cyrus Atossa quickly became his biggest cheering section. The extremely naughty thoughts that entered my head then caused my face to turn cherry red and bead with sweat.

  Malcolm opened the door to my room and I ducked in immediately hiding my red face as best I could. The room was more expansive than I assumed it would be. It held an oversized, ornately decorated armoire and a four-poster bed complete with a chiffon canopy. Nothing I would have chosen for my bedroom at home, but definitely cool for a weekend in the den of Dracula.

  I left my rolling case at the door and flopped down on my new bed. I could feel the familiar texture of a feather down comforter hidden under the pink and gold embroidered duvet. I took a quick count of pillows and came up with nine in total. I’d never seen that many pillows on a bed in my life. I rolled to my back and gazed up at the canopy. A matching shade of pink surrounded the four posts and draped from each all the way to the floor.
A gas light sconce provided the only light in the room, but allowed me to see well enough to notice there was no outside light coming into the room. Thick maroon curtains hung to the floor on the wall opposite the door, but no sign of natural light peeked through.

  “Where would you like your bag?” Cyrus asked cordially from the doorway.

  “Anywhere is fine.” I left my spot on the bed and headed toward the curtains in search of added light.

  My hands admired the velvet material of the drapes for a moment before I flung them back dramatically. No window lay beneath these curtains. Instead, a mirror as tall as me adorned the wall.

  “Who hides a mirror behind a curtain? Who has a room with no window?” I was mostly talking to myself, “Curiouser and curiouser.”

  “This is only the beginning.” I met the green eyes that stared a hole through me. He smiled and turned from me, leaving the room. Leaving me with only his ominous words.

  “Do they rehearse this shit?” I thought aloud.

  A monthly meeting of creepy bastards, perhaps. On the docket today, new ways to scare the shit out of people. Jesus.

  I grabbed my smallest bag and pulled my phone from the side pocket. I figured I’d better call my mom; she wasn’t overbearing or anything, only a normal mom with normal worries. Although, we didn’t talk much these days. I thought she was kind of in denial about the whole killing some people thing. It was the same selective denial she lived in when it came to Mike. One of the main reasons we didn’t talk much anymore. According to her, Mike and I were still going strong. All you needed was love she said. She obviously smoked herself stupid in the seventies.

  I turned my phone on after more than six hours of being off and I had only one voicemail. How loved I was! My shoulders slumped a little as I listened to the message.

  “Ba…Dylan, hey, it’s me. Uh, Mike. Listen, we’ve got a situation churning out here I think you’d like to know about. Hey, uh, gimme a call back as soon as you get this.” The line hung for a few seconds before the voicemail ended.

  “Ugh, fuck.” Reluctantly, I called Mike’s number.

  “This is Mike.” I cringed. I hated when he answered like that.

  Geez. “Hey, what’s going on?”

  “Hey. How’s your trip?” said Mr. Nonchalant.

  “Just getting started. And actually kinda shitty so far. You had some news for me?” I wasn’t in the mood for Mike-shit.

  “Yeah, you won’t believe what’s come across my desk.”

  “Wait,” I said and closed my eyes, “if your next sentence has the words ‘dead girl’ in it, I’m hanging up.” I was lying. I’d only ever legitimately hung up on him five times in all the years I’d known him and each time was well more deserving than this.

  “Ok. Um, well, you know Regina and the…one in Vegas,” he paused.

  “Yeah…” I clenched my teeth.

  Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

  “There’s more.”

  “More? How many?” I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees.

  “Lots.”

  “Define lots,” I said sternly.

  “Eight.”

  “Eight? In your jurisdiction?” The pitch of my voice peeked at an awkward level. Saying I was shocked would be an understatement.

  “No. Regina, Vegas, and six others. One just popped up in Texas three days ago. Same as Regina. Young, severed head, wooden object protruding from her chest, probable ties to the underground vampire community.” It sounded like he was reading off a teleprompter.

  How in the fuck do eight staked and headless bitches just fall under the radar? Why hasn’t this hit the front pages yet? First vampires stalking the streets of Hollywood, now vampire hunters? In every generation there is one…

  “When did the others come up? Regina was killed five months ago, how long have these other precincts been holding out?” My head was swimming in death, but I regained composure. Big tough Dylan Hart. Slept with her gun. Has no friends. Yup, that was me.

  “Apparently, they’ve been turning up all over the country since March. Dylan, Regina wasn’t the first. In fact, she was the third.” His voice was dramatic and I got the feeling he was aiming for a shock and awe reaction on my end.

  “Fuck.” My heart sank a bit. I always assumed her death had something to do with Diego and Sam and the bloody mess they’d all gotten into. I knew there was a similar case in Las Vegas a few months later, but I figured it was some attempt to copy the original. “So, what are you doing about it?”

  “I’m gonna need to talk to your friends. They’ve got to have an idea about what’s going on. I wouldn’t doubt they knew about all these murders and haven’t said a word. Shit, maybe it’s some kind of punishment they’re handing out.” There he goes, blaming people for shit before he even knew the facts. Not unlike most cops, but more than a girlfriend could handle, hence being broken up.

  “Hm, yeah, blood in, blood out,” I said mindlessly. The hardening of my heart was a process that’s been hard at work for years.

  “Funny. So, ideas?”

  “Well, I’d start with her nearest and dearest, but oh wait, I killed them! I don’t know Mike, I’m on fucking vacation.” Ok, was on a research expedition, but it was vacation-like and I was using it to its fullest. As best as I could without the aid of my dipshit travel companion. He’d picked the absolute wrong time to solicit help from me.

  “Yes, I know. You’re on vacation with the exact people I think are involved in this. Each of the girls was connected somehow to a Sanguinarian club or group, or whatever the fuck you call them.”

  “House. It’s usually called a House. Don’t you watch TV?” I was suddenly very tired. Talking to Mike about dead girls made my head want to go to sleep for an awfully long time.

  “Humph.” He made a sucking sound with his teeth and I knew he was judging me. He was bad about that. “Do you have an idea how to go about getting information?”

  I shrugged, “I guess I can…wait! No, no, no. No more dead girls. No more gore. No more death. Please,” I dropped my head into my free hand and held it tight.

  “No more gore and death! Aren’t you about two hours away from entering Satan’s asshole? You don’t want this, well guess what baby, you got it. Right in your fucking lap. You hunted the devil down the first time around. This time you’re blindly jumping into the bullshit with both feet. And to make matters worse, you’re a four hour flight away. There’s nothing I can do if something happens.” His voice gave away his facial expression. I could picture him with his furrowed brow and tightly set jaw.

  “That’s what this is all about? You’re all pissy pants because I hauled off and left the state. I’m not there at your beck and call, vampire kids in tow. I brought down the baddies last time sweetheart, this time you’re on your own! You and all those other idiot fucking cops need to do your goddamn jobs before another girl turns up without her head.” More than anger, my voice held a viciousness intended to strike low and do damage.

  “Dylan, you can be such a fucking bitch.” Expression change. Brows lifted in the center and eyes set on ‘puppy’. I knew that asshole way too damn well.

  “That’s right baby, get over it.” I hung up. For the sixth time since I’d known him, I hung up on him.

  My hands were a bit shaky and I needed a stiff one. A drink. A stiff drink.

  More dead girls. Fucking wonderful. I felt for the poor little headless girls, really, but in the end, I still had my head.

  Well, for now.

  Chapter Five

  We parked in a fairly nondescript parking lot centered between a few interesting buildings. The smell of the dank water of the canal hit me as soon as I stepped foot out of the rental car. It smelled like old tap water and fish. I wrinkled up my nose in disgust before I realized that was probably offensive. Quickly, I ran my hand across my nose and glanced around at my company. Malcolm had seen every second of the little dance and scowled at my inconsiderate gesture. My defensive nature kicked in and I instan
tly threw on a stink eye to beat the band, just for him. I didn’t like Malcolm McTavish much to begin with and I was always looking for a reason to dislike him even more. Letting him know that, was just added pleasure.

  A large crowd was gathering on the sidewalk on the perimeter of the parking lot. At first, I thought maybe someone had fainted or went into labor, but it was nothing as cool. When we got a little closer, I was able to see a small sign propped on the ground that told me the crowd was gathering to join up with the ghost tour. I’d never proclaimed myself as an avid horror fan, but I’ve always been intrigued by the paranormal. Probably one of the deep seeded reasons I chose to research the Vampire Massacres and allowed myself to get tangled up with the underground vamp scene in the first place. Down deep in my core, I liked the unknown and the thought of searching for haunts in New Orleans sounded downright amazing, but I knew damn good and well not one of the folks in my party was about to ditch out on our evening with the plastic-fanged ones to hear some bumps in the night. My inner child pouted a bit at the thought of not getting what I wanted.

  If I survive the night, I’m ghost hunting tomorrow if it kills me.

  “Where is it we’re going?” I whined, just a little.

  “We’ll have quite a walk I’m afraid. I thought Tatum and yourself would like to see a few sights on our way to our first stop.” Malcolm, such a pompous ass, gave a look that was meant just for me. It said, what’s wrong fatty, can’t keep up?