by S Mays
“I am surprised, Stalker. A mere human giving two vampires such trouble. I haven’t had any direct dealings with the Order, but if the others are like you, I can see how they’d be a problem,” he said, forcing her flat on the ground with the weight of his body.
“I’ve wiped out more leeches like you than I can count. You minor vampires are barely worth the effort. In a second, I’ll deal with you just the same,” she spat, trying to free her arms.
“But I don’t think you have a second. We are going to catch hell from Master Dalca over this incident either way, so I’m going to take it out of your hide,” he said with a grin, leaning in close. He turned her head to the side, exposing her neck.
“N-no, don’t!” Jessica cried, her bravado instantly evaporating.
“Don’t worry, I’m just going to take a little bit. Just enough to take the fight out of you for a few days and heal these injuries. Maybe quiet you down for a while. From what I’ve heard, you can’t be turned anyhow, although I’m sure that’s just a rumor.”
He clamped down on her neck, biting deep into her flesh with his fangs. He fed for a few seconds before rising again.
“I-I’ve never tasted blood like this. It’s unbelievable! I can now see why Master Dalca wants you!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide with excitement.
Jessica’s pretense of fear faded, and she relaxed in his grip. “I’m glad you enjoyed it. You might want to be aware that there’s a reason I can’t be turned. My blood is completely immune to the darkness that drives your kind. Like white blood cells attacking an infection, there’s something in my blood that attacks evil like yours and erases it completely. And guess what, my friend? You’ve just ingested about three ounces of it.”
The vampire was not convinced. “It’s shameful that you’ve got to resort to such lies in order to…t-a-ttcchh.” The veins on his head bulged, pulsing with each heartbeat. “W-what d-did you do to m —” he gasped, blinking rapidly.
“I told you. You’ll die in about sixty-five seconds unless you do as I say. You fell into my trap like the impatient fool you are. Now, get off of me,” she commanded.
Gagging, he rose. “How…stop it?” he asked, the thought of his immortality crumbling terrifying him.
“You are lucky you stopped when you did. First, give me whatever key card you use to access the rooms in the building, and any kind of access codes I’ll need to get out of here. What kind of defenses will I find?” she said.
Fumbling in his pocket, he produced a small plastic card which he handed to her along with his key ring. “The c-c-code i-is 7982, the d-defenses are heat-sensing c-camera…” he stuttered before freezing completely. He stood still, as if he was now a statue.
“Damn it,” Jessica exclaimed as his stiff body fell forward, landing in the shallow water with a splat. “I guess he drank four ounces instead of three. I’ll have to chance the security systems.”
Kneeling, she inspected the bodies of the two vampires, searching for any useful information or tools. The smaller one’s clothes were several sizes larger than hers, but the outfit might fool someone from a distance. She stripped him, replacing the flowing gown she was wearing with the guard’s uniform. Dragos apparently pined for ages long ago and liked for his “guests” to be dressed appropriately, but such clothing was nothing but a hindrance in battle.
Each guard carried a sidearm. She removed both of the holsters and placed one on each side of her waist. She also took the unfired stun gun and a baton, as well as a wrist communicator and mini-tablet. The tablet was unlocked. Its operating system and security program were oddly familiar.
She realized they were very similar to software used by the Order. It was a matter that would have to be investigated another day. For now, the similarity was a boon, allowing her to muddle her way through dungeon schematics. The layout was unusual, not like most modern buildings. Zooming out, she was surprised to learn the entire structure resembled a castle. “Damn narcissistic vampires.”
Scrolling back in, she investigated the rest of the prison through the software. Searching for an armory or holding room, she wondered if her sword Casca was located nearby.
Dragos might have depleted Casca’s GP, but there could be enough left in her to cut through some locks or maybe even kill an odd vampire or two. Even without the particles, she couldn’t leave her treasured weapon in a place like this.
The closest room that fit the criteria was on the next floor up, a storage room of some kind. There was also what appeared to be a research lab on that floor. Dragos might have taken it there to study it. She then noticed there was another resident in the dungeon besides herself. She pulled up the prisoner’s dossier and gasped. “No…it can’t be.”
The hallway outside her cell was composed of the same stone her cell was made of, lit by LED torches made to resemble live flames. It gave the impression of a dingy, dirty dungeon, but Dragos was not totally committed to the fantasy. High-tech touches were evident if one looked close enough. Leaving her cell, she went to the end of the hallway, opening the door with the security card. Midway down the next hall, she turned right. At the end of the corridor was another cell similar to hers.
Putting her ear to the door, she listened. Hearing nothing, she tapped on the door. There was no answer. She slid the view port open. The room was decorated exactly as her room was. The light from a TV flickered across the surfaces of the room, but she could not see her target. The lights were off.
“Hello? Is someone in here?” she called into the cell.
A figure on the bed moved before turning to face her. “Hello? Is someone there?” a strained female voice called back.
“What is your name?” Jessica asked.
“M-my name? Who are you? Is it time for breakfast already?” the woman called back, slinging the blankets off of her and lowering her legs to the floor. She appeared to be about fifty. Her clothes were of the same era Jessica’s had been from, but this woman’s clothes were basic and dirty.
“My name is Jessica Luvkrafft. I am a friend of Sverre’s,” she answered.
“S-Sverre? Where is he? Is he okay?” the woman asked, rushing to the door. She peered back at Jessica through the opening, desperation in her eyes.
“I don’t…I mean — he’s fine,” Jessica lied, noticing the fervent hope in the woman’s eyes. She had no clue if Sverre was okay or even alive at the moment.
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Walker, I’m going to get you out of here.”
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
The craft soared high above the clouds. It blended into the sky perfectly due to its active camouflage system projecting a mirror image of its surroundings onto the hull. The porous material of the craft completely absorbed radar waves. Nearly silent engines pulsed, emitting no contrails. Sverre shook his head at the technology on display. “Does everyone have technology like this?”
Varulf did not answer. His mind was on the disappearance of his village. Even if they had been transplanted peacefully, it meant that a large contingent of the pack were traitors. Worse, they were in league with the Master, the hated overlord that Varulf had worked for decades to free them from. Deceit and subterfuge were beyond Varulf, but planning and schemes were second nature to Tarja and Dragos. Now, it looked as if they were working together to undermine his leadership.
“Technology is overrated, whelp,” he replied, long past the acceptable time for an answer had passed.
Sverre turned away from the window he’d been staring out of. The sun was on the verge of rising within the next hour. “Huh?”
“I said, technology is overrated. Your kind puts all of their faith in technology to solve their problems. They think any problem can be solved with their computers and science. It makes them weak and lazy.”
Sverre paused a moment before answering. “But you have almost been wiped out by the Order, and all they have going for them is technology.”
“No, they have the tenacity to outlast their enemy. Mankind has a deep-rooted hatred
for anything that is different. Different religions, different races, different species. Dozens of species die out daily due to man’s drive to exist. Many of my kind simply want to find our place in the world, but man has staked his claim to the planet and recognizes no other authority but his own. His technology allows him to do this, but his strength is from his hate, his arrogance. The technology is nothing but a twisted mirror of his own soul.”
Sverre observed his hands, looking at the now-flattened runes that laced his skin.
“I do not mean that weapons are useless. Rely on yourself first and your weaponry second,” Varulf said, flexing his fingers to extend his long, sharp, deadly claws. “I know these will be here as long as I breathe. You do not even know how your weapon works. Man works to create ever more deadly weapons and counters to those weapons. Technology constantly trumps technology, but spirit and mind are things no one can take from you.”
Sverre changed the subject abruptly, tossing out a question that had been in his thoughts since Izzy had revealed the information to him. “Why didn’t you join the Underworlders?”
Varulf sighed before replying. “I lead pack Cen’Ful. I do not recognize the authority of anyone else. I would not have my authority challenged by this self-styled leader, Drake.”
“Izzy said you were afraid your clan was dangerous.”
“Do not presume to tell me what I fear. But, yes, our pack is trained from childhood to be deadly assassins and trackers. For many decades, this has been our way. We’ve done…unmentionable things while in the employ of the Master. It twisted our souls, our minds. We became less than men; our bestial nature took hold. Like dogs bred for dogfighting. Evil took root in us and grew. But we needed the Master to protect us and hide us from the Order — the deal with the devil, as they say.
“We worked as mercenaries for him and lived a life of luxury and safety in return. We gave up honor for security. It took too long before I realized this. I could not bear to see my people in this state. After much negotiation and sacrifice, I arranged a bargain so that we left his employ. I settled our pack far from man’s domain, in the mountains. The Master stated he would continue hiding us from the Order. I did not know how he did this, but we lived for several years in peace. It was difficult adjusting to a life without the amenities the Mas — Dragos had provided for us. Many in the pack were unhappy living in such simple conditions. A few rebelled and left, such as Rilus. He stayed in the employ of Dragos, but he remained a wild beast, difficult to control. Your friends made contact with us shortly after we settled, offering us refuge. We knew of the Underworlders from our employ with Dragos. There is not much he does not know, even about your organization. However, our pack is too savage to live in harmony with other creatures of the night. We’ve committed too much bloodshed. We should be content with the life we made for ourselves in the mountains, far from man and far from others like us,” Varulf continued.
“Some kind of self-imposed exile?”
Varulf nodded. “Yes, to atone for our sins. We have killed thousands. Men, women, children. Human, animal, and the supernatural. Dragos shows no mercy to his enemies. He presents an air of sophistication on the outside, but inside he cares nothing for the living or the undead. Only the acquisition of greater power and control over others.”
“You weren’t suspicious when he simply let you go your merry way?”
Varulf gave him a sharp look. “The deal I forged with the vampire lord was paid for in oceans of blood. My own, my pack’s, and my enemies’. I do not speak of it. I was willing to die for this bargain. I almost did die. My beloved almost died. It was worth it for our freedom, even if we had to trust Dragos to maintain our secrecy for us. If nothing else, he is a man of his word.”
“It’s a damned if you do, damned if you don’t situation, I guess,” Sverre said, attempting to figure out a path that could have saved the werewolf pack their years of hardship.
“Being what we are makes us damned from the beginning. From there, you can only strive to live as long as possible. This is man’s world, and he does as he will,” Varulf answered.
Janir nodded absently in agreement. “Without Varulf, our pack would have been wiped out by your kind long ago. We’ve seen many of our friends, families, and allies destroyed. Only the strongest have survived. You either adapt or die.”
“Until speaking to you and seeing the Underworlders, I had no idea things were like this. I thought the Order was a force for good, protecting humans from your kind,” Sverre confessed, looking Varulf in the eye.
Varulf snorted derisively in response. “You fight, but you do not even know what you fight for. It disgusts me. But you are young, inexperienced. A foot soldier does not know the thoughts of his commanders. You have not seen the true battlefields yet. If you were to witness those horrors and still remain committed to your Order, then I would call you an enemy of myself and my people.”
Sverre reluctantly admitted it was true. He’d only seen a few fights, and even then, he had no clue what was going on. Like a child watching a boxing match, he could only emulate the actions he saw, without knowing the brutality and consequences of those actions. In a world where entire races might be wiped out, he’d blindly followed what he was told by people he knew nothing about. The same people who had set him up, imprisoned him, and would have eventually killed him. Izzy, too.
Sverre’s current discussion with the abrasive werewolf leader suddenly struck him as odd. “Not to insult you, Varulf, but what’s up with this confession of yours? You don’t seem to me to be the type who pours his heart out to people he refers to as ‘stripling.’”
Varulf paused, just realizing himself what he was doing. Janir and Abraham exchanged covert glances, also wondering why their usually stoic leader was speaking to a human about such sensitive and personal information.
Varulf then smiled. It was a grin that was as terrifying as it was amusing. “I do not know what it is about you, stripl — Sverre. You strike me as an honest human. A bit slow and ignorant, but something tells me you are trustworthy. I know you do not understand what is going on. I barely understand current circumstances myself. I have a feeling we may soon find ourselves in a situation where trust may be needed. Against Dragos and his schemes, it’s likely none of us will live to see the sunset today. But we are warriors, and we will fight until our hearts are ripped from our bodies!” He shouted the last statement with far too much vigor for Sverre’s liking.
“Well, that’s all very…encouraging. Thank you for your trust and, er, confidence,” he said, searching for words that would please the gruff werewolf.
Varulf sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. “If you were part of my pack, I might have been able to make something of you. As is, I’m afraid you just don’t have the warrior spirit.”
Sverre thought about the comment, then laughed. “Buddy, you don’t know how much warrior spirit I have within me. It’s like a superstore of warrior spirit up in here.”
“I think somewhere in your past, you have damaged your head. We have one like you in our clan. He is called Mad Dog. Once, when he was about your age, almost all of Mad Dog’s skull was ripped from his body in a fight with a metal golem or something of the like. When his brain grew back, something was wrong with his mind. We suspect there were elements of silver within the golem that interfered with the regrowth,” Varulf recalled, peering into the distance as if picturing the one he spoke of. Again, he smiled. “Even if your brain is not quite right, you have a good heart, I think,” the large beast offered.
“That’s probably the nicest thing a three-hundred-and-ninety-pound engine of destruction has ever said to me.”
The green light above their heads activated with a ding. Olavi leaned in from the cockpit. “We are approaching the city, sire.”
Varulf turned away, glancing out of the side porthole. “The time for memories is ended. Our destination approaches.”
Sverre leaned over to look out of the front windscreen. “New York
City?”
“Yes, Dragos makes his home in plain sight of you humans, in the middle of one of the most populated cities on the planet. Most of our kind must hide underground or in remote locations in order to survive, but he bares his chest to you.”
Sverre had never been to the city, but he’d seen enough of it on television to recognize it. The hectic bustle and crowded streets did not appeal to him. There was also the fact that he had a fear of heights, so naturally skyscrapers were off-limits.
“Please don’t tell me this guy is in the tallest building in the city,” Sverre said, attempting to pick out which building they were heading for.
“No, not the tallest building. His home is at the top of the second tallest building in the city. It was necessary because it met the requirements to hold the weight of his castle,” Varulf explained.
“Castle?”
“Yes, he moved his family home to the city years ago. It sits atop one of these buildings.”
“I think I read something about that in the news. Some crazy Wall Street type bought a castle and was moving it to New York,” Sverre said, squinting at an approaching building.
Varulf looked in the same direction. “Yes, that is the one.”
The dawning sun’s blinding rays illuminated the entire city, silhouetting the immense structures. The building they approached towered above the smaller structures surrounding it. It was just as Varulf said: a full ancient castle sat atop a modern skyscraper. It clashed horribly with the styling of the building below it, and did not blend in with anything else in the city. From a styling standpoint, it stuck out like a sore thumb. Despite that, it was a spectacular sight.