Librarian. Assassin. Vampire_Amber Fang_Book 3_Revenge

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Librarian. Assassin. Vampire_Amber Fang_Book 3_Revenge Page 8

by Arthur Slade


  15

  A Looney Tunes Moment

  You know that moment when Wile E. Coyote has stepped off the mountain and looks left and right then looks down? And then he falls.

  I lived that moment.

  I plunged down the slope, smacking hard on ice and snow, skidding faster and faster and expecting to slide over some unseen edge. If I went over a mountainside, I would think the same thoughts all those others who’d fallen from great heights would think: oshitimgoingtodieimtooyoungI’mnotleavingabeautifulcorpsejustasmushedone. I dug my hands into the ice and it was enough to slow me. But I just couldn’t grip. Then I began to tumble uncontrollably—every second landing was on rocks and it was like being punched in the shoulder. Gut. Spine. And head.

  “I’m not going to die here!” I hissed.

  But the mountain had other plans. I smacked my head again incredibly hard and, in the moment it took to gather my thoughts, I slid another fifty feet. I managed to twist around and dig both hands down, nails ripping through my gloves and cutting into the ice. The fog suddenly lifted and I skidded to a stop.

  I was laying on a loose collection of ice, rock, and snow. My feet dangled over a rather steep cliff—the drop was deep enough to bring on vertigo. I quickly pulled myself away from the edge.

  What stunned me immediately was that the fog had not just lifted. It was now a wall a foot or so behind me. I could reach out and touch it. But where I was sitting was well lit, and there was no fog at all. Almost as if a giant fish bowl had been turned upside down and was holding the fog on the outside.

  I turned over, sat up, my back creaking with each movement. My thoughts had been left scrambled on the mountainside above me.

  My eyes grew wide and my breath caught in my mouth.

  “Holy hell,” I said.

  For Castle Neuschwanstein was high above me, sitting atop a mountain. The force field that was stopping the fog from entering was a dome above it. And I guessed it somehow prevented satellites from finding this place, because a castle that big would be easy to spot from space.

  My heart was still beating hard and I questioned my sanity. The castle looked so perfect and pristine. No bird would dare to evacuate its bowels on those bricks! It was stunning in so many ways. I momentarily forgot my aches and pains and struggled to my feet, as if that would somehow help me get a better view.

  From here, it looked like the only way in was by a cable car that ran down into a valley. Of course, I thought. Of course!

  Somehow Anthony Zarc had built this castle under the proverbial noses of all the world governments—he had paid off the right people and put the right tech in place so that it was undiscoverable by modern technology. And some random skier had stumbled across it and likely died in a medieval dungeon. Much of the profit Anthony Zarc had made from his military investments had been funnelled into his very own private castle. The heart of his operation was beautiful, but made of stone.

  My mother was in there somewhere. I was certain of it now.

  A black helicopter took off from one of the parapets and rose slowly in the sky. When it was a few hundred feet above the castle, its rotors vanished. Then the top compartment. And finally the little landing pad thingys—Dermot would know what they were called.

  So the dome-like force field was that high. No wonder no one knew about this place. I guess Zarc had saved the best tech for himself.

  I was so stunned that I stared and stared, not certain what to do next. Then I heard just the slightest huff of air behind me. I turned to see nothing but fog held back by a force field.

  “Don’t move,” a female voice said.

  A crossbow poked through the foggy barrier and pointed directly at my forehead. Alas, the weapon was not close enough for me to grab.

  Another bow emerged a few feet down the line. It was aimed at my heart.

  I glanced slowly behind me. One more step and I’d fall about two hundred feet. There was a goat path to my left along the rock and snow, but I couldn’t get there with the bows pointing at me.

  “Don’t overreact,” a male voice gruffed. “We know you overreact. Often.”

  “No, I don’t,” I said, trying to hide the defensive tone in my voice.

  The woman moved ahead, leading with the crossbow. She was dressed in a white winter outfit and her face was hidden by a white balaclava. Her eyes and skin color indicated she was Asian.

  “I never overreact!” I hissed.

  “I beg to differ.” The second bow person partly emerged. He was also in white. Also Asian.

  “What the hell happened to half their bodies?” a muffled voice asked behind them. It was male. And familiar. It made my skin crawl like a salamander. Then his head poked through the mist and I suddenly wanted to vomit.

  It was my father. Martin Horsus. He had some sort of leather protector across his lower face, covering his mouth. But I recognized his beady, evil eyes.

  “Hello, my sweet little daughter,” he said. “Long time no see. I’m looking forward to some daddy-daughter time.”

  My entrails grew cold. I looked from one crossbow to the other. Inched further backward. It was better to jump off the cliff and take my chances on the fall. I’d hope to grab something on the way down—people always found a branch to cling to in the movies—or I might land in snow. Maybe I’d survive.

  I had no chance of survival with Dad in the mix.

  Then, when I was backed up right to the edge, some part of my mind noted that his face covering was more like a muzzle one would use to prevent dog bites. It gave him a bit of a Hannibal Lector look. And even though he’d come all the way through the blinding fog, he had his arms behind him as if they were tied there.

  Or manacled.

  Which is when the fourth figure came through. A big man all in white who made a creaking, mechanical noise as he moved. He was holding a rope that I assumed was attached to my father.

  The man looked directly at me and then reached up and pulled off his full-face mask.

  It was Dermot.

  16

  Name in Vain

  “Jesus Christ!” I said.

  “No, it’s just Dermot,” my father answered. “There’s nothing holy about him at all.”

  I looked from Dad to Dermot to the crossbow-holding mercenaries. They were familiar, too—Derek and Stephanie. The two operatives who’d helped us find Mom in Northern Canada. They lowered their crossbows now that I had a look of shock and recognition on my face.

  Speaking of faces, Dermot’s had the appearance of being sunburned and windburned. And it was covered with small scabs. He didn’t have much of his curly hair left either.

  I nearly stepped back off the edge. Then took another step ahead. “How the hell are you still alive?” I asked.

  “Oh, that’s a long story.” His voice was ragged.

  “A long story? It’s impossible. I saw what was left of the apartment. And there were bodies.”

  “I was one of them.”

  “You survived that blast?” Some part of my brain still couldn’t believe I was talking to him. “You survived it!”

  “Dear daughter, stop stating the obvious,” my father said. “The blood bag lived. Whoop-de-do.”

  I didn’t even honor him with a glance.

  “But…but…” I said. “But how?”

  “Luck?” he rasped. Again I noted how ragged his voice was, as if he was gargling and talking at the same time. “When you were in the bowling alley, a clown came into the room.”

  “What the hell are you talking about?” I said. “A clown?”

  “A small one. I think it was Pennywhistle. That clown from It.”

  “It’s Pennywise! And you still need to give me a proper explanation.”

  “It was a toy clown. A little robot that walked right into the middle of the room and pointed at me. Then it began to laugh.” Dermot cleared his throat. “‘Boom boom boom goes Dermot,’ it said. ‘Oh, and Hector says hello.’ It had a little controller that it clicked, then th
e clown began counting down from five, cackling in between each number.”

  I was silent for about three seconds processing that image. A clown? That counted down? “What did you do?”

  “Kicked the damn thing away, but it kept laughing. I didn’t know if the threat was real. I assumed it had set off some sort of munitions on a timer. So I jumped into the freezer.”

  I remembered the freezer half full of deer parts. “That freezer was strong enough to protect you from the explosion?”

  “No. And yes. The freezer was torn apart, but at least it stopped enough of the blast that I was still alive. The concussive force knocked me out. Emergency crews found me and took me away. But I was mostly dead.”

  “Don’t you wish the story ended there?” Dad said. “Forgive me, but I’ve heard this part.”

  “I woke up in the morgue,” Dermot rasped. “They thought I was dead. Maybe I was and I came back again.”

  “Well, maybe he is Jesus,” my father added. “We are in the presence of blood-bag holiness.”

  “Shut up!” I shouted. “Can’t you tighten that thing so he shuts up?”

  “It’s as tight as it goes,” Derek said. “Believe me, I’ve tried to make it tighter.”

  “Ignore him,” Dermot rasped.

  I jabbed a finger at Dad. “But why is he even here?”

  “I’ll get to that,” Dermot said. He clutched his white ski cap to his chest. “When I was in the morgue, I couldn’t move. Some sort of paralysis. And I saw an angel. A woman floating above me.” Was he suddenly going to go all religious on me? “She said, ‘Are you Dermot, Amber’s friend?’ and I found the strength to nod. ‘My name is Sonya. I’m going to get you out of here.’”

  “Sonya found you?”

  “It’s what he just said,” Dad interjected. “I worry about your intellectual capacities. You seemed to get your IQ from your mother’s side. And she’s a dumb bitch.”

  I took one quick step forward and punched him hard in the gut with all my strength. A mean thing to do to a manacled vampire, but he flew back on his ass into the snow and wasn’t able to breath deep enough to get any snarky comments out.

  “Go on,” I said.

  “Sonya helped me walk out of there. Took me to her apartment and put on a few salves and bandages. I seem to have lost my eyebrows and some of my hearing. And she told me about you. How you had survived the bowling alley.”

  “Yes, I did. Barely.” I wasn’t certain how to say the next part so I just spat it out. “I killed your ex-girlfriend.”

  His face seemed to tighten a little, almost like he was getting angry. Though it was hard to tell with the way his skin looked. “Hallgerdur is dead?” he whispered.

  “Yes. I broke her neck. I should mention she’d already shot me. Again.”

  “Good,” he said. “I mean, good that you got her. I was wrong about Hallgerdur. There wasn’t any way to bring her back in from out of the cold.”

  I could have told him that the first time I’d met her. It was an odd moment, though. I’m not sure how many assassins get congratulated for killing their partner’s ex-girlfriend. It wasn’t a normal relationship. But that was obvious. “So I got out. And was rescued by Sonya, too, and ended up here.”

  “Yes, she told us she had dropped you off at the airport.”

  “And how were you able to track me to Switzerland?”

  “Well, two ways. Sonya gave us the name you were travelling under and I used that to discover your flight to Budapest. So we followed you there first.”

  “You were in Budapest?” Honestly, the shocks were almost too much for my system.

  “We were right outside your room. But you ran away.”

  “That was you?” I slapped my forehead. “You were that close? And what was with all the sniffing?”

  “That’s where I come in,” my father said. He was still sitting in the snow. “One of my many talents.”

  “He found your trail in Budapest.”

  My father sniffed loudly. The mask didn’t completely cover his nose. “Bet you didn’t know that vampires have a powerful sense of smell. It can be used to follow the slightest pheromones.”

  “I have a nose, Dad. I’ve used it.”

  “But I’m the best at it. A master.”

  “He is good,” Dermot said. “I’d done several papers about that particular skill of his. So I had your father flown in from our safe house, guarded by Stephanie and Derek. It was the only thing I could think of. We found the cab you’d taken; the driver remembered you and, for a fee, took us to your hotel. We followed your smell around downtown Budapest, into the museum, and would have caught up with you then, but he broke containment.” He motioned at Dad, who was still sitting in the snow.

  Dad shrugged. “Who could blame me? I yearned from some me time. I’d been cooped up in an egg for far too long. I just wanted to stretch my legs.”

  “He stole someone’s phone,” Dermot said.

  “I wanted to update my Facebook status!” Dad was getting peppy again. It crossed my mind that I should give him another gut punch.

  “Anyway, we recaptured your father and went to your hotel room.”

  “Then you followed me here,” I said.

  “Yes.”

  “But how did you know where I went? I rented a car.”

  “We were only about an hour behind you when we landed in Zurich. We followed you to the rental place. And, you may not know this, but your car had a tracking system in it. It’s a good investment for the rental company. So we followed you to the train station and up.”

  “All this way,” I said. I took a step forward. “You came all this way to find me.” And I did something that seemed unnatural, but felt natural even with the others watching. I hugged him.

  There were two odd things about the hug. First, he didn’t return it. Second, I was surprised at how hard his body felt. Metal hard. “What?” I said. “Do you have body armor on?”

  He pulled back a sleeve to reveal metal bones. “No. I knew we’d be climbing mountains. And I’m not at 100 percent health. So I brought along my exoskeleton. It makes climbing so much easier. But I’m afraid to return the hug. I might squish you.”

  I hadn’t quite let go of him—it was like I was holding onto the Terminator.

  He was alive. Alive. I looked up at him. And he looked down. There was a warm emotion in his eyes. A longing perhaps.

  “Are you going to kiss him?” Dad asked.

  I took a quick step back. “No.”

  “Good. Otherwise, I’d have to vomit. Seeing my daughter kiss a blood bag is on my list of top ten most unappetizing sights. Plus, I’d probably drown with my mask on.”

  He was just trying to get a rise out of me. Dermot was smiling though, and I noticed that his face had a reddish tinge to it that was only partially windburn. More like blast burn. Maybe he’d need grafts. But he did mention he’d been augmented and perhaps healing was part of that.

  “Wait a second,” I said, a thought just dawning on me. “Why didn’t you contact me in Elysium? I checked it every hour. Sometimes more often than that.”

  “I was locked out,” he rasped.

  “Locked out?”

  “Yes. I couldn’t get into the room. Someone put a lock on it.”

  “How is that possible? You created that place. It was only for us.” Then I put my gloved finger in the air. “But Agnes was in the room.”

  “Agnes?” Dermot asked.

  “Yes.” And then I explained who she was and all of her clues that had led me here.

  “What the hell would they want with a librarian?” Dad asked. “They don’t even taste good.”

  “Yes, I’m curious about what they’d want with the librarian, too,” Dermot said.

  “There was some sort of high-level, misguided meeting with ZARC that went wrong. So she’s imprisoned there. She’s very sweet. She’s a Fanger.”

  “A what?” Dad said.

  “Oh, it’s a long story. But she says she sa
w my mom in that behemoth of a building.” I pointed at the castle above us.

  “Your mom is in there?” Dad said. I swear he was licking his lips behind that mask. “I hope they’re torturing her.”

  In one part of my mind I pictured falling on him, tearing away with claws and fangs until there was nothing left of my father. Just a red gore splattered across the snow.

  But I held back.

  “So now that we’ve made it all the way here,” Dermot said, “do you have a plan?”

  “Broadsword to Danny Boy,” I said.

  “What?” Dermot looked confused. I guess not everyone in the world had watched Where Eagles Dare a hundred times.

  “Never mind. It was a weak joke. The cable car is the only way in,” I said. “I plan on taking it.”

  17

  A Wrinkle in the Plan

  It was not really much of a plan, I admitted. To myself, that is. Not aloud to anyone else.

  Dermot gave me that I’m not so sure that’s a great idea look. My father laughed. And neither of our crossbow-toting pals reacted in a way that indicated a yay or a nay.

  “It does look like the only way in,” Dermot said. “The problem with that is it will be the most heavily defended point of entrance.”

  “Well, I did watch a helicopter take off and land, going through this force-field thingy that surrounds the area.” Forcefield thingy? You’d think I would have learned better assassin speak. But I wasn’t a big fan of military things. “I’m assuming you don’t have a helicopter in your back pocket.”

  Dermot shook his head.

  “We could cling to the bottom of the cable car.” I pointed at Derek and Stephanie. “These two seem to be rather adept at sneaking…”

  “It’s called stealth skills,” Stephanie said. I noticed she’d brought her bow up an inch or two. I hoped it wasn’t on purpose.

  “Yes, that’s what I meant,” I said. “So it is possible for us to enter stealthily.”

  “Well, it’s possible. Of course,” Derek said. He had a look of determination and humor in his eyes. “I’ve done crazier things that required more skill. But I’ve never snuck into a fortress on a cable car. It might be fun.”

  “So it’s settled,” I said. “We go up that way. Sneak—I mean, use our stealth skills—to find my mother. Then we stealth our way back out.”

 

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