Brian Helsing: The World's Unlikeliest Vampire Hunter: Mission #1: Just Try Not To Die

by Gareth K Pengelly

  Straight into her outstretched fist.

  “You’re making this difficult for yourself,” she told him as he clutched his throat, gasping for air. “The ring will tell you what to do, if you only listen to it. Quieten your mind. Shouldn’t be too hard for you. And listen to the ring’s urges. If it tells you to block, do so. If it tells you to dodge, don’t question it. The ring has absorbed the fighting styles of a dozen Helsings, each mighty warriors with their own distinct combat techniques. Trust in it. And fight.”

  Brian didn’t want to listen to her, he was too angry. To listen to her would be to admit defeat. And yet he knew the sense in her words. When he was high in the pub beer garden, his mind had been clear of worries, of anger, of doubt. And as such he’d been able to hear the ring, subconsciously or not, and not only avoid being killed, but even defeat that vampiress, Beth. With a snort of resignation, he closed his eyes, trying to focus on clearing his mind.

  A swift kick to the temple was his reward.

  “And for crying out loud, don’t close your eyes in the middle of a fight,” she chastised him.

  “Would you give me two bloody seconds?” he screamed. “It’s somewhat a lot to take in all in one go, y’know?”

  “Fine,” she told him, turning and walking towards the edge of the mat. “I’ll give you a moment to compose yourself. But then I’m coming after you. And I won’t pull my punches this time.”

  Pull her punches? The woman was a lunatic, he thought, staring after her with fury in his eyes. No, calm down. Listen to the ring, he told himself. The ring knows what to do. He kept his eyes open this time, not trusting the woman as far as he could throw her, but inside he was trying his damndest to calm his thoughts, to clear his mind. Contrary to Gertrude’s beliefs, there was, in fact, a lot always going on in Brian’s mind, the sea of paranoia and neuroses that it was. Finding a moment of calm amidst the noise was proving quite difficult. Was that a calm spot, an eye in the storm? Maybe. After what seemed like only a few seconds, the Master of Combat had already turned back towards him, making her way slowly, nonchalantly, across the mat.

  “Ready?” she asked.

  “No.”

  “Good.”

  Her foot flashed up in a roundhouse kick, whistling through the air towards him. This time, his arm was already there, an impenetrable barrier that her leg simply stopped against. She stood there, leg still raised and resting against his forearm, a curious look on her face, almost surprise. Not as surprised, Brian thought, as he was himself. Suddenly, she leapt into the air, that leg dropping, the other one coming about now, smashing into his face and sending him crumpling to one knee.

  “I stopped one of them, at least,” he told her, spitting blood onto the straw.

  “Good,” she told him, sounding almost sincere this time. “That’s called progress.”

  Chapter Ten:

  Wheels Of Steel

  Heimlich had to stifle a laugh behind a fist as Brian limped slowly, painfully, into the Scrying Chamber. As Brian looked about with the one eye that wasn’t swollen shut, through the cloying cloud of incense that hung low and heavy in the dimly lit air, he saw half a dozen of Heimlich’s subordinates, each sat at their own desks. A strange amalgamation on those desks, a combination of the past and future; desktop PCs, all flat-screened with wireless mice, yet at the same time crystal balls, tea-leaves, divining rods and strangely glowing maps. Was one person… were they gutting a chicken? They were; and spraying its still-warm blood onto a piece of white card, gazing intently at the resulting pattern, tapping a pencil against their lip, before nodding and typing something into their PC. He tried to grimace in distaste, but couldn’t feel his face, so the result looked more akin to a raver’s gurn.

  “Welcome to the home of magic within the Sanctum, Helsing,” Heimlich greeted him. “Here is where my team scry through magical means for threats to come.” He frowned momentarily. “Not being very talkative, I see. Gertie playing a bit rough today?”

  Brian’s silent stare was his reply, his face battered, bruised, lip cut in several places, a gash on his temple. From the way he was holding himself, bruised ribs too. Heimlich nodded, realising he wasn’t going to get anything out of Brian in this state.

  “Follow me, young Helsing. Let’s get you fixed up.” Sullenly, Brian did as he was bade, following the Master of Magic through the room and out of a side door, to a small side-chamber, all softly-lit with candles, a small fireplace at one end and two small chairs facing each other in the middle. But they didn’t stop here, Heimlich leading him one door further. Here, what looked like a shower cubicle, albeit with no shower. In fact, as he glanced closer, it was indeed a shower cubicle; he could still see the B&Q sticker, half-peeled off in one bottom corner of the glass. The only difference being, the glass sides of this cubicle were etched with tiny runic shapes by the hundred. “Yes,” Heimlich told him at his questioning stare. “It is a shower cubicle, but also much more than that. Powerful magicks are unleashed within, the runes on the glass sides containing and amplifying the effects. Step in, and I’ll get things in motion. We’ll soon undo Gertie’s over-enthusiastic handiwork.” Still in a state of daze following his beating of before, Brian began to disrobe, much to Heimlich’s surprise. “God lad, no, keep your clothes on! It’s magic, not water.”

  With a numb nod, Brian walked forwards and into the cubicle. Heimlich shut the door behind him and took a few steps back. Through the frosted glass, Brian could hear the man mumbling some strange chant in an ancient language, a tongue similar to that he’d heard Helsing XII speak when lighting his sword. His hands began to twist and weave in a strange pattern. A wind began to whirl about inside the cubicle. Strange shapes engraved into the rock above and below him began to glow with a colour he couldn’t even begin to name, a high-pitched buzzing filled the air and a sense of warmth began to flow across his skin. A tingling. An itching. Then suddenly, pain.

  “Ouch! Jesus! It hurts!”

  “Well, we’re reversing the injuries of before,” Heimlich told him through the glass. “It hurt to get them, it hurts to get rid of them too. Your body is going backwards through time, undoing the damage caused to it.”

  Brian’s ribs thumped, his temple blaring, his lip burning. Then suddenly, it all stopped; the strange lights fading, the noise abating. And the pains that once wracked his body, ebbing away as if never there. The cubicle door opened, Heimlich standing there, a satisfied grin on his face, surveying his fresh, whole and entirely unmarked body.

  “Better?” he asked.

  Brian nodded, confused and at once relieved to be out of pain.

  “Better. Now let me out of here, I want to go home. I’ve had enough for one day. Enough for a lifetime.”

  “Not yet,” Heimlich told him as Brian climbed from the healing cubicle and out into the room proper. “First, intro to Magic 101.”

  “No. I’ve told you, I’ve had enough. Home and bed. Might rustle myself up some beans on toast if my bread’s not gone mouldy. Knowing my luck, I don’t hold out much hope.”

  Strangely, Heimlich didn’t protest, instead stepping aside and sweeping his arm for Brian to pass, a strange glint in his eye. Brian stared at him suspiciously, before striding past, out of the healing chamber door, into the anteroom beyond with its two chairs, Heimlich strolling slowly, casually behind him. The door up ahead that led to the Scrying Chamber and Brian stormed towards it with purpose in his steps. He flung it open and stepped out, the door closing behind him. He stood. And blinked. And groaned.

  He was back in the anteroom, Heimlich standing before him, smiling.

  “No, no, don’t do this. C’mon. It’s not fair,” Brian sighed.

  Once more, just for luck, he barged his way past the Master of Magic, all but sprinting towards the door for a second time. He opened it, not going through this time; there, standing before him, Heimlich in the anteroom. He turned back to look behind him. The same view awaited him that way too. Deflating, all hope seeping out like air from
a balloon, he closed the door.

  “Fine. Let’s just get on with it.”

  “Good man, I knew I could count on you to see sense. Please,” Heimlich said, gesturing towards one of the chair. “Take a seat.”

  Brian did as he was told, all he ever did these days, or so it seemed, slumping down into the chair with a huff and a puff of indignation. His body felt refreshed following the magical shower, but his mind creaked, its cogs gunked up by the confusion and fear of the day. Heimlich took a seat before him, steepling his fingers in front of his face and regarding him with curious eyes, eyes that flickered mysteriously with the light of the fire behind Brian.

  “Alright, Morpheus,” Brian asked him. “What now? And if you offer me any pills, just be aware that I’ll probably take them. I’m looking for any way out at this point.”

  Heimlich laughed and slouched back into his chair, crossing his legs.

  “You’re a strange one,” he mused, still smiling slightly.

  “Tell me something I don’t know. Everyone here stares at me like I’ve got two heads.”

  “That’s because you’re an enigma, Brian.” Brian started at the sound of his own name, but why? He suddenly realised; it was the first time anyone here had called him by his real name, not Helsing, not Number Thirteen. His interest suddenly piqued, he listened somewhat more intently now. “The ring usually chooses warriors, men of strength, courage, intelligence,” Heimlich continued. “And yet when Helsing XII passed away… it chose you. Why, I wonder?”

  “Well, isn’t it obvious?” Brian told him. “Neil should have been in that car on that test-drive, not me. He offered to let me take Cassandra out, to get in my boss’ good graces, for all the good that did me.”

  “Indeed, that’s how it would first appear, yes. A mere fluke of circumstance, an accidental skein in the tapestry of fate. And yet…”

  “And yet?” Brian asked, eyebrows raised, for surely the obvious answer had been the right one? And yet Heimlich didn’t seem convinced.

  “For all your friend’s qualities, his obvious lack of fear, his curiosity, his physical fitness, I don’t think he was the ring’s intended target.”

  “What? Why? I mean, he’s perfect for the job. And I’m me.”

  “At first glance, yes. But I see with more than just my eyes, lad. I see with the spirits, with the powers of the elements themselves. Even now I can see into that confusing mess you call a mind. And I saw into Neil’s too.” He drew slightly closer, staring at Brian intently, the very act making Brian squirm as though he were a bug being studied under a microscope. “I don’t believe Neil would have survived the encounter with Cassandra. He’s too masculine, if anything, too led by his crotch, by his testosterone. Too… normal. Not like you. No offence intended. He’d have succumbed to her charms in short order and died before XII could have even arrived to rescue him. And yet you, Brian… you survived where even he would not have done. Why?”

  Brian shrugged.

  “Sheer, pants-wetting terror?” he ventured. “She scared me. She was sexy, god yes, more so than any woman I’ve ever met. But too hot, if anything. Too confident. And the way she came onto me – me, of all people! – just confused the hell out of me. Set my spidey-senses tingling.”

  Heimlich nodded, seemingly satisfied as if his own suspicions had been confirmed.

  “Look,” Brian continued. “I’m clearly not Helsing material. Surely there’s got to be some kind of spell you know that can remove this ring? Give it to someone more worthy?”

  The Master of Magic shook his head.

  “No, Brian. There’s no spell. The ring is enchanted by the combined will of dozens of magi of old. It would take more than me to break its enchantment. And besides, I think you’re wrong. I would venture that you are, in fact worthy. And perhaps exactly what the Helsing Order needs right now.” At Brian’s confused, gawping face, he continued. “The world is changing, Brian, yet the Order hasn’t progressed much over the centuries. I mean, Christ, our Master of Technology steams around in a traction engine, what does that tell you? We need to get with the modern world. It’s all twitters and snapchats and dabbing and other such nonsense and we don’t have a clue. The world doesn’t belong to warriors of old anymore. It belongs to people like you. Perhaps it is time for a new, geeky, weak-chinned Helsing to take up the mantle.”

  Brian blinked at the description. Fair enough, it was accurate, but all the same it stung.

  “I… I’m still unsure.”

  “Of course you are. Do you think XII didn’t have his doubts?” Brian winced at the continued use of Roman numerals as his predecessor’s name. It hurt the ears. “But he fought past them. And he had a long life, full of action, adventure, mysterious lovers in exotic places.”

  “Yeah, but it didn’t end well for him. I’d rather die old, bored and with blue balls than the way he did.”

  “All things come to an end. Yours might not be so tragic. It’s not unheard of for a Helsing to die of old age. And speaking of endings, so too must our chat, soon enough. I can see you’re drained, confused. But I promised you a magic lesson and a magic lesson I shall give you. The ring on your finger grants you access to the realm of magic. Only a small part, granted, but enough to aid you in your missions all the same. And I’m going to teach you how to tap into its powers.”

  Brian glanced down at the ring on his finger. Perhaps it was more like the Green Lantern ring than he’d first thought.

  “Go on,” he voiced, intrigued now, if still a little wary.

  “What’s behind you, Brian?”

  “Behind me? Erm… the fireplace?”

  “Picture it. Envision it in your mind’s eye. The heat, the flames. The mantelpiece. The clock above it. And concentrate. Make it real.”

  Brian shrugged and did as he was asked. He could feel the heat on his neck. Could see the flicker in Heimlich’s eyes. He remembered the shape of the fireplace as he’d walked through the room. He saw it. Wait… he saw it? His eyes widened, glancing over Heimlich’s shoulder at the fireplace beyond. He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

  “Correct,” Heimlich told him with a nod. “We’ve swapped seats.” He opened his hands in a mock explosion. “Magic!”

  “I didn’t feel anything,” Brian told him, stunned, still staring at the fireplace that was now behind Heimlich, the man occupying the chair Brian himself had been sat in but moments before. About the pair of them, a strange cloud of black soot, like that which had surrounded Helsing as he’d passed. “Are you saying I… teleported?”

  “Translocated,” the Master of Magic corrected him. “Or Blinked, I think the Helsings like to call it.”

  “Did I teleport you too?”

  “Nah. I did that myself. Good job I got the timing right. I could tell by your eyes when it was going to happen.”

  “Wait… what would have happened if you hadn’t tele… translocated yourself?”

  “It would have gotten very, very messy.” Brian shuddered as horrific gory images suddenly filled his mind’s eye. Heimlich laughed. “Yes, it would have been that bad. Translocation is useful, can get you out of sticky situations or across to a ledge too far to jump, but you have to be careful. You need to see where you’re going. Need to feel it. Hence I had you seated; the sensation of being sat down was already in your mind, therefore you reappeared in the other seat in the same position. It takes practice and there’s been mistakes made in the past. If you don’t do it properly, well… you don’t want to know what it feels like to have your arm appear halfway through a wall.” He raised one arm, sliding the suit sleeve down. His hand was normal, human flesh, smooth and dark brown. But his forearm, Brian noticed now, was a whirring construct of brass and cogs. “It hurts.”

  Brian paled, feeling his empty stomach once more growing nauseous as it had back in Otto’s lab. Heimlich’s smile vanished.

  “I think that’s enough for you for one day. How would you like to go home?”

  Brian glanced up, eyes
wide and full of wonder, the look of a prisoner on death row granted a stay of execution, hoping beyond hope yet fully expecting that hope to be crushed like an ant beneath a merciless boot.

  “More than anything in the world.”

  “Good. Then let’s show you to your wheels. You can have the rest of the day off, providing you promise to come back tomorrow.”

  Brian couldn’t promise anything, his mind filled now with visions of his bed, his couch, his Xbox and normality. He rose from the seat, making his way to follow the Master of Magic as he strode to the door to the Scrying Chamber. Then he paused, as the man’s words finally sunk in.

  “Hang on… wheels?”

  Heimlich laughed.

  “You don’t think we’re going to let a Helsing, champion of justice, hunter of vampires, ride into battle on a clapped out shed of a moped? Christ, could you imagine if you got squashed under a bus? Hardly a fitting end.”

  Brian stood, puzzled, before the Master made his way through the door and he had no choice but to follow. Thankfully, whatever enchantment had been placed upon the door before seemed to have gone now, the antechamber firmly and resolutely staying behind him, as the laws of physics dictated it should. They strode through the Scrying Chamber and along the hallway towards the Sanctum, still thronged with staff rambling about, busying themselves with whatever confusing duties they had. The other three Masters were there, watching them draw near.

  “We’re getting there,” Heimlich told them. “Slow progress, but we’ll make a Helsing out of him yet.”

  “Good,” Otto said, nodding, a broad smile above his white beard.

  “Sorry if I was a bit… rough, earlier,” Gertie giggled, before her eyes took on a curious gleam. “You took it a bit better than I’d have thought at first glance.”

  Brian didn’t reply, instead watching her warily. Friedrick spoke next.