by Lily Luchesi
“Quiet, both of you,” Ben hissed.
“You know vamps have incredible hearing,” Leander added. He cocked his head to the side. “Look, across the avenue: the man with the grey hair.”
“I don’t see anything peculiar about the man,” Vincent commented.
“His skin— look at its pallor. His pupils are dilated, and the whites of his eyes are getting redder by the second,” Leander said. “He’s quite elderly, but has no signs of age in his gait, nor on his body at all save for his hair. We’ve got him.”
“Now, what are we doing with him?” Vincent asked.
“We’re going to capture him and bring him back to the safe room in the library. Once he’s secured, we will…coax the information on Veronica Delarue out of him,” Leander said.
Under Leander’s direction, the four hunters entered the main avenue via four disparate routes, effectively surrounding the vampire. Once they had him in their sights, the vampire began to laugh.
“Do you really think that I did not hear you all when you first began tailing me? How naive…but then what else could I expect from barbarians like you?” he said.
Leander brandished a silver sword at the vamp’s throat. “We do not feed off of mankind like leeches. Look in the glass before calling us barbarians…oh, I forgot— you can’t.”
“How immature,” the vampire said, and suddenly he leapt back and slashed his claws in Michael’s direction, shallowly cutting into his cheek. The vamp licked his claws clean, smiling.
Ben rushed to Michael’s side, while Leander and Vincent advanced on the vamp. Vincent was feeling very insecure and frightened. How could he stand against a creature this fast, this strong? He held his revolver with trembling hands, ready to fire consecrated silver bullets if the vamp went to hurt Leander.
“Enjoy it, because that’s the last blood you’ll ever taste,” Leander said.
He and the vamp circled each other for a moment, the tension growing in the air. Vincent began to feel stifled by it. He saw Leander’s eyes leave the vamp’s for one second and connect with his. Somehow he knew Leander wanted him to act, and he shot a silver bullet into the vamp’s side, making it screech.
Ben leapt into action, covering the vamp’s face with a rag that Vincent had been told was covered in garlic oil. Not enough to kill it, but enough to make it pass out: vampiric chloroform, Ben had called it. The vamp’s eyes turned back to normal before rolling to show the whites as it passed out.
“Quick, before some bystander thinks we’re abducting an innocent human,” Ben said, gesturing to Michael to help them lift the body. “We’ve got him,” he told Leander.
“All right. Vincent, you come ahead with me. We need to be on lookout and distract anyone who might see.” Leander led Vincent ahead, but the streets seemed deserted.
“I don’t understand,” Vincent said. “Why don’t we just tell people what’s going on? Instead of possibly getting arrested for kidnapping?”
Leander laughed. “Do you think anyone would believe us? Not many people act like you when confronted with a paranormal creature. Most of them would call us mad…at least, until the vamp wakes up and eats them. Better we keep it all under wraps, lest we cause citywide pandemonium.”
They managed to reach the library without incident, and dragged the vamp’s limp form into the secret back room. Ben and Leander quickly tied it to a metal chair using silver shackles engraved with religious symbols.
“How long till he wakens?” Vincent asked.
“Not soon enough for my tastes.” Leander took a vial of holy water from his pocket and splashed some on the vamp’s face, the sizzling pain making it wake up with another piercing screech. “Better.”
The vamp’s hissing stopped and it glared at the men with fiery Undead eyes.
“Now, let’s do things the easy way first: where is Veronica Delarue?” Leander asked.
The vampire was silent.
Ben stepped next to Leander. “Answer the question, and perhaps we’ll make your death quick. Delay any longer, and we will personally ensure that you suffer like your victims have suffered.”
“You hunters think you are invincible. Acting as if you were doing such good work. You know nothing of the vampiric community and how we feed. I have never killed a soul in three centuries,” the vamp said.
“Sure. And I’m William Shakespeare.” Ben had a small strip of leather, which he dipped in the font of holy water that sat in the room. He whipped the vampire on the neck, and Vincent watched as its skin began to sizzle as if he had been hit with hot oil.
“Where is Veronica Delarue?” Leander asked again.
The vampire’s eyes looked at Vincent for a moment before turning back to his antagonists. “You act as if you’re doing good work. You claim to be saints, saving humanity. And yet you torture and maim, not just for information, but because you enjoy it. Look at the glee in your eyes!”
“Yes, glee in getting rid of filth like you,” Leander agreed, taking a silver cutlass from his belt and digging it deep into the vampire’s shoulder. He pulled it out, and repeated his original question. Still, he received resistance from the vampire.
Vincent watched in horror as Leander and Ben took turns stabbing the vamp. He was amazed that the vamp didn’t die from blood loss. There were cuts on its face, burns on its neck, a bullet in its side, and various stabs in its upper body and abdomen.
“It’s not going to give her up— just kill it already,” Michael said. He had been silent for most of the time, not taking part in the torture. He held a bandage to his injured face.
“Why? We’re having so much fun,” Leander said, smiling as he used a dropper to put holy water in one of the vamp’s wounds, listening to it scream.
Vincent stepped closer, curious as to what was happening inside the vamp. Its wound was bubbling and boiling like when peroxide hit a human’s wound. He bet that the feeling was intensified tenfold in the vamp.
“Last chance,” Leander told it.
“See you in Hell,” the vamp replied.
Leander shrugged his shoulders. He turned to Vincent. “Are you ready?”
“Ready for what?” he asked.
“To make your first kill, of course,” Leander said.
Vincent felt his insides twist. Was he ready to commit murder? Granted, it was not typical murder, and this was no typical person. It was a monster who fed on human blood to survive. He idly wondered if there was some sort of truth to its statements about not killing in three centuries. Intellectually, he knew that monsters were monsters, but deep down he had to wonder.
He mentally shook himself. Of course it was lying! It wanted to survive, didn’t it? Vincent took his long sword from the scabbard and gazed at the red eyes of the vampire. Unfeeling. Unrepentant. Unafraid. He had to admire its emotional stability. Swinging the sword, he cut its head off in one clean swoop, sending it into the corner of the room. He watched as the body began to disintegrate into nothing but a pile of dust on the chair and on the floor.
Leander sighed disappointedly. “Looks like we’re back where we started once again. Good thing London is crawling with bloodsuckers. I won’t stop till that vampire is dead.”
***
Chicago, Illinois
Present day
“I don’t understand,” Danny said as the vision from the past faded. “Why did you have it out for Veronica? And now Angelica? Because their bloodline is so ancient?” He tried to move, but Leander’s powers still held him captive.
Leander gazed off in the distance, appearing lost in his memories. “You could say that that is the simplest explanation. The older a vampire’s bloodline, the stronger they are. The stronger the vampire, the easier they could take over humankind. They are distantly descended from the original Roman line: kill that bloodline, and every vampire walking the Earth is weakened.”
Danny couldn’t help his frustrated groan. “Are you that dense? Veronica didn’t want to hurt humans. Angelica doesn’t want to hurt hu
mans. The line ends with her, and she is making sure that the vampire population stays under control. Just go away and leave her alone.”
Leander’s eyes darkened, and Danny was reminded of just what he was dealing with. “You think you can give me orders? I could have killed you easily when I was mortal. Now, it would take just a snap of my fingers to twist your neck like a pretzel.”
“You don’t scare me,” Danny lied.
“Not yet, maybe, because you have no idea what I’m capable of.” Leander leaned across the table, and Danny felt his heartbeat speed up. This was not how he wanted to die! Leander stopped his slow advance and cocked his head. “Looks like we’re about to have company. We’ll have to continue this story another time, Detective.” Leander straightened up and disappeared, leaving behind the subtle smell of sulfur in the air.
Danny felt his body become limp, and he sighed with relief. Thank God, he thought, stretching his sore limbs. He knew he needed to tell Angelica what had just happened, but something had rendered him limp with exhaustion. He hoped he had the energy to drive home! He closed his eyes for a moment, until a voice snapped him out of it.
“What the Hell is that smell? Mancini, get up!”
He jumped and saw Bart standing by his table, looking around warily.
“Leander Price. I need to tell Angie.” He started to get up, but felt too weak.
Bart grabbed him by the shoulder. “You’re coming back to the PID right now.”
Danny could barely remember the short walk back to the building, he had been so drained. Did demons do that? Was that one of their powers? He found himself on a comfortable couch in one of the residence area’s sitting rooms, when a glass was shoved in front of his face.
“Here. Cross asked me to record your account of the events for her records.” Bart sat across from Danny as he slowly sipped the protein drink he had been taking since he started working with the agency.
Angelica claimed there was some illegal drug in there to help mortals gain strength and stamina, and right then he was grateful for it. By the time he had drank half of it, he was feeling much better. He began to talk into the tape recorder, recounting everything that had happened, including the visions that Leander had given him and the fact that the man who had made Vincent become a hunter was now a demon who owned Fiona’s contract.
“For once, I’m glad all I do is work in the armory,” Bart commented. “This all sounds a little too creepy and involved for my tastes. Now, do you feel better?”
Danny stood up, testing his limbs. “Yeah, I feel fine now.”
“Demons have the same effect on mortals that evil spirits do. They can drain your energy like psychic vampires,” Bart explained.
“Well, I’m glad you showed up. That was awful. I don’t even remember the walk here.” Danny stretched his legs a bit. “You didn’t roofie me, right?”
Bart wasn’t amused. “Your sense of humor is as bad as always. Get some rest: you’ve got an early day tomorrow.”
Yeah…and Angelica will never have an early day ever again.
Chapter Five
The door to the director’s office had been changed by the time Danny had gotten in that morning. It had read “F. Dominic”. Now it read “Angelica Cross, founder and director”. Beneath it, on a removable plaque, was “Daniel Mancini, deputy director”.
“Yep, that is definitely weird to see,” Danny said to himself as he unlocked the door. The office was dark— no windows —even with the lights on. He figured Angie liked it that way. He set up the computer and looked at the notes Angelica had left him.
I tried to tie up all loose ends as much as I could last night. The Leander situation makes this whole thing a lot more difficult than we figured. Please spend as much time as you can looking for strong demonic activity, or severely powerful dark magic.
Oh, and the actual deputy director might come in early. If he does, brief him to the best of your ability. Thank you. I am sorry I had to ask all of this from you.
AC
Danny took the note and slipped it into his wallet. How had they gone from the easy love they had reestablished to this cold little note? What had happened? Why was she shutting him out? Too many questions, and none of them would help lead him to Leander or Fiona.
He closed his eyes and thought back to the previous evening. Why had Leander wanted to talk to him so badly? Was it to recruit him and turn him against Angie? It seemed the most likely account. Why did he feel that he needed him, though? To lure Angie into his trap? Possibly. Still, he had nothing concrete, just a lot of theories and no way to prove them.
Angelica had a separate computer monitor setup to track strong malevolent energy signatures, and the setup looked quite similar to what he saw on the local weather. There were small flares here and there, but definitely not the ones he was looking for. Still, they needed to be dealt with, so he sent some orders down to the main room to get teams on them. They could be as simple as kids who thought it was funny to try and summon a demon like they did on Supernatural, or it could be a newly practicing witch. It could be worse, like a possession, but he hoped not. He liked to stay optimistic.
He spent a lot of time on the monitors, but he also couldn’t help but poke around in the PID files. He was a detective, and it was in his nature to be nosy.
He discovered a file labeled “REINCARNATION” and it was authored by Angie. He clicked it, finding that she hadn’t password protected it, meaning she didn’t care if he saw it.
The file started out with her skepticism about reincarnation, about how her family had always been Christians who didn’t believe in being reborn after death. As the file went on, she talked about how she found Danny a century after his death, and how she was now changing her mind about the entire situation.
I can’t explain it, I don’t know if I want to, but it is him. It is the same man, with the same physical appearance and even the same soul. His energy signature has only changed slightly, as circumstances permitted. I want to find others. I have looked into many stories, only to find them to be fakes. I will utilize this file as I discover more about reincarnation, and more about the subject as well.
He went on to read more about him as Angelica had gotten to know him personally in this life. She seemed to know more about him than he did, and it was a little unsettling. He read about his powers, about her theories, and about his own skepticism.
He’s still a stubborn one, I’ll give him that, she had written. I suppose I should have known better than to lie to him. My own fault.
Subject. She had referred to him as a “subject”. He allowed himself to wonder if she had to call him that because of the nature of the file, or if she really had thought of him simply as a subject when she had first found him?
See subfile: psychic side-effects of reincarnation.
That file was very basic, and nothing he didn’t know. How he was psychometric, how he got random flashes of his previous life. Apparently, there were things about him that were still a mystery to Angelica.
I understand his visions of his past, but how is it that he has visions of other people’s lives (such as my own before we ever met)? Is it unique only to him, or do other reincarnated people also have general precognitive abilities? These are questions I cannot answer until I find others who are like this subject.
A question I also need to ponder: what if he is the only one of his kind, the only reincarnated soul out there?
Danny stared at the file, his mouth agape. Was this possible? Was he the only reincarnated soul on Earth? It was true he had never met anyone else who had had another life, but how was it possible? As a lifelong Catholic, he was taught, as Angie had been, that reincarnation wasn’t real. Could it be that God chose him for some reason? And if that was true, could God have chosen others as well? How would they ever know?
“Too many fucking questions. My head hurts,” he muttered to himself.
“Excuse me? I haven’t asked you anything yet,” a voice said, making Da
nny jump in his chair. He looked up and nearly fell out of it.
Standing before him was Doctor Michael Finnigan, from the hunter group that had taken Vincent in in 1810. He had a more modern haircut, but the blonde color with a bit of grey was the same, as was his small, but stocky build, round nose, and hazel eyes. It was the same man, but that wasn’t possible…unless…
Danny stood up. “I’m sorry. Who are you?”
“Mark Evans. I was the director of the London division of the PID, but was given orders to come here. I just got off my plane from Heathrow about an hour ago.” He held his hand out, and Danny was reluctant to shake it. What would he see?
Their hands touched, and what Danny saw went by in a blur: the old doctor in London, dying by a gunshot wound to the chest. The doctor, reborn, stalking Angelica. The doctor, sitting behind a desk while another man showed him something in a laboratory beaker.
“Nice to meet you. I’m Daniel Mancini. I’m just filling in for you,” he said, trying to put his thoughts in order. His detective’s training made him take in as much as possible at once: rumpled, but clean suit, uneven haircut, about forty years old or so, exhausted. Nothing hinted at him being a reborn soul, nor a psychic of any kind.
“I received my orders so quickly, I admit I have quite a few questions. Are you qualified to give me answers?” Mark asked, sitting in the visitor’s chair.
Danny sat as well. “Yes, I am, actually. Very glad you arrived so soon, because being in a leadership position makes me a bit uneasy.”
“You were a detective, right? Forgive me, but you remind me of one of the inspectors the PID works with back at Scotland Yard. Of course, he’s not strictly human,” Mark commented. “We work with the Yard and MI:5 the same way you work with the FBI and local police here.”
Danny nodded. “I spent over twenty years with the Chicago Police Department. When I was released from duty, I spent two years deteriorating into nothing until Angelica recruited me.”