Emily Shadowhunter 4 - a Vampire, Shapeshifter, Werewolf novel.: Book 4: DAY WALKER

by Craig Zerf

  Now listen very carefully because this part is important.’ He pulled folded piece of paper from his trouser pocket, unfolded it and held it up for all to see. On it was an artist’s impression of Emily. He had no photos, but the drawing had been skillfully done, the artist even managing to capture the ethereal light that shone in the teenage girls eyes. ‘I shall leave this with Ben. He will make copies for you all. Many copies. You will instruct all of your people to look out for this girl. Find her for me and you shall be rewarded. If you find her then contact me through Big Ben. Do not attempt to apprehend her as that would not end well for you. Do you all understand?’

  Everyone nodded.

  ‘Good. Any questions?’

  No one spoke.

  ‘Oh, come now,’ urged Nathan. ‘Speak up. I don’t bite.’ He laughed. ‘Oh, of course I do. But I won’t bite you for asking a question.’

  Paul Levy put his hand up. ‘Capo,’ he started. ‘What is a Nightwalker? And a Bloodwraith?’

  Nathan gestured at his bodyguards. ‘Nightwalkers. They are members of the Nosferatu who I have deemed to be the very best of the best. Bloodwraiths are the best of the best.’

  Levy kept his hand up.

  ‘Yes?’ Snapped Nathan.

  ‘Sorry, Capo. Just to be sure about this…umm…you are vampires, are you not?’

  Nathan smiled, pulling his lips back to expose his fangs. ‘That would be an affirmative, yes.’

  ‘Are you going to turn us into vampires?’ Continued Levy.

  ‘No,’ answered Nathan. ‘Not yet.’

  There was a collective sigh of relief.

  ‘But I still might eat some of you. However, not now. Time is wasting and I have a set of twins and their mother to visit.’ He glanced at his watch. ‘Six hours until sunrise, that should be more than enough time.’ He picked up his shirt and jacket, bowed and left the room, leaving two Nightwalkers behind to watch over his new den of iniquity.

  Chapter 23

  The house must have cost north of ten million Pound Sterling. Electric gates, in-out driveway and large, double volume portico-style entrance. It was situated in Richmond, behind the cemetery, overlooking the park.

  The house sported a discreet brass plaque next to the gate. Plumpton Manor…please ring bell for entrance. Above the sign was a swivel mounted CCTV camera.

  Nathan didn’t bother to ring. Instead, he simply told Alan to get out of the limousine and open the gates. The Nosferatu did so by grabbing them and pulling, tearing them off their hinges and stripping the gears and locking mechanisms as he did so. He cast them aside and got back into the car. The driver pulled up outside the portico, jumped out and held the door for Nathan.

  The Capo strode up the steps and opened the front door open, smashing it into the entrance hall with one punch.

  ‘Cooee,’ he called. ‘Come on out Aunty Plumpton, you have visitors.’

  An old man appeared at the end of the corridor. He shuffled slowly down the long white hallway until he was a few feet away from the four vampires.

  ‘And who might you be?’ Enquired Nathan.

  The old man looked up at him and scowled. ‘I might be the king of Siam,’ he said. ‘But that would be unlikely. As it is, I be Monty. I be the Plumpton’s driver. Have been for thirty year now. And I tell you, young man, Aunty is gonna be mighty pissed at you for breaking her gate and her front door. Mighty pissed. What your problem you keep breaking stuff? Anyways, why you here?’

  Nathan laughed. ‘Oh, the faithful old family retainer. Plucky and cantankerous but with a heart of gold. Well, I’m afraid that we shan’t be needing you, Monty. So, I’m going to have to let you go. You’re fired.’ Nathan struck the old man in the chest so hard that his sternum and ribcage folded in like a collapsed balloon. The sound of his breaking ribs was audible in the room. A crackle of splintering bone. He dropped to the floor without a sound, desperately and unsuccessfully trying to suck some air into his ruined, punctured lungs.

  ‘Come along,’ commanded the Capo as he strode down the corridor and into a large withdrawing room. The nightwalkers followed closely behind him.

  In the withdrawing room sat three people. Two men dressed in almost identical dark suits and a tall, bony woman who looked like a man in drag.

  The woman was holding a double barreled shotgun, and it was pointed directly at Nathan.

  The Capo could see her finger tightening on the trigger as he walked in so he held up his hand and unleashed his coercion. ‘Stop.’

  The old woman started to shake as she desperately tried to break his mental hold on her.

  ‘Impressive,’ admitted Nathan. ‘You are a very strong lady. Beyond willful. I actually have to put in a fair amount of effort to control you.’ He stepped forward and took the weapon from her hands. Then he casually bent the barrels into a U-shape and gave it back to her.

  ‘There you go,’ he said. ‘Best to remove the temptation. Now we can chat like civilized adults.’

  ‘You killed, Monty,’ spluttered missus Plumpton.

  ‘Did I? Oh, you mean the old retainer. I’m sorry, was he a friend?’

  ‘Of course not,’ replied Aunty in an affronted voice. ‘He was a mere servant. But he was my servant, and you had no right to kill him.’

  ‘I see,’ said Nathan. ‘Pray tell, Missus Plumpton, or may I call you, Aunty? Do you have any more servants in the house?’

  ‘Of course,’ answered Aunty. ‘We aren’t peasants, you know. There’s cook, the two maids and the gardener. Mind you, the gardeners not here at the moment, he lives out.’

  ‘Call them,’ commanded Nathan.

  With gritted teeth, Aunty gestured for one of the twins to pull a bell cord. He did so vigorously and then sat down again, never taking his eyes off his mother.

  Under a minute later the cook, a plump woman of indeterminate middle age, and two younger girls dressed in classic black and white maids outfits, stood in a row in front of Nathan.

  ‘Alan,’ said the Capo. ‘Kill them.’

  There was a blur of movement and three decapitated bodies fell to the floor. To the Plumpton’s credit, none of them screamed or shouted. They simply stared in amazement both at the speed and the bloodiness of the multi-beheadings.

  ‘You see, Aunty,’ said Nathan. ‘I have the right to kill whoever I want. You, however, live and die by my whim. So a little less attitude from you will go a long way. Do you understand?’

  Aunty Plumpton sneered and said nothing.

  Nathan grinned. ‘Such spirit. Pity that you’re such a dried up old hag, I might have fancied you in your day.’

  ‘How dare you?’ Asked Aunty.

  Nathan sighed and shook his head. Then he turned to face the twins. ‘Good evening, gentlemen,’ he greeted. ‘Which one is which?’

  ‘I’m Barry and this is Larry.’

  ‘Ah yes,’ noted Nathan. ‘Different color suits. The navy blue suits you, Larry. And the midnight blue compliments your eyes perfectly, Barry.’

  The twins both smiled expansively. Absurdly pleased that the Capo had noticed their sartorial differences.

  ‘Now, lads,’ continued Nathan. ‘You mother is a rather headstrong character. Old and set in her ways. Mister Stopes, oh, sorry, I take it that you do know mister Stopes?’

  The twins nodded.

  ‘Yes, of course. So, as I was saying. Mister Stopes was much the same. So, obviously, I had to dispatch him. I must be honest with you, I am thinking of doing the same to your dear mother. But before I do, I would like to get your input. Should she stay or should she go? If you think that I should spare her, and you are both sure that she will remain under control then I shall follow your advice. But be it on your heads.’

  ‘Ha,’ interjected Aunty Plumpton. ‘My boys would never condemn me,’ she shouted. ‘Looks like you’re stuck with me, mister hoity-toity.’

  Larry leaned close to his brother, and they had a quick whispered conversation.

  ‘We have a question,’ said Larry.
>
  ‘Ask away.’

  ‘Who would be in charge if mother was gone?’

  ‘Why, you two, of course,’ answered Nathan.

  ‘Then I think, we think, that there is no need to spare her,’ said Larry. ‘We only ask that you make it quick. After all, she is our mother.’

  Barry tapped Larry on the shoulder and whispered into his ear again.

  ‘Okay,’ said Barry. ‘Sorry, sir,’ he continued. ‘Barry says that there really is no need to make it quick. Take as long as you want.’

  ‘You reprobates,’ shrieked Aunty Plumpton. ‘You cowardly, useless, evil, bastards.’

  ‘Mother,’ retorted Barry. ‘Language, please.’

  Nathan walked over to the old woman and let his fangs extend. Then he slowly lowered his head to her neck and sank his canines into her, inch by agonizing inch.

  And, finally, she screamed in pure terror.

  Afterwards he licked his lips, stood up and addressed the twins.

  ‘From now on,’ he said. ‘You will call me, Capo.’

  And he took out a picture of Emily.

  Chapter 24

  The people that William referred to as the ‘Core Team’ were ensconced in the penthouse apartment above St. Pancras Station. William, Troy, Bastian, Dietz and Sylvian. And of course, Emily.

  Merlin had stayed in the forest residence with the Prof.

  The rest of the Pack had been divided up into six teams and spread around London in various mid range hotels.

  There are over one thousand churches in London but many of them no longer had sentient gargoyle guardians on them. There were still a scattering of gargoyles on various public buildings, libraries, theaters and some private clubs. But on the whole, if the Pack was going to clamp down on criminal activities it would be by putting foot, or paw, to pavement.

  Em sat in an armchair in the main sitting room and stared out of the large windows, watching the city enter the night as the sun went down.

  As usual, the boys had all collected in the kitchen. A bottle of Jack Daniels and a pack of playing cards and they were happy. Texas Holdem.

  Tag was telling a story about his grandmother, a pile of sweet potatoes and a jerked chicken.

  The gargoyles were silent.

  Em could feel the Pack on the edge of her mind. Always there. She could feel William. And Troy. She knew that their feelings for her were strong. But those feelings were so mixed up with reverence, protectiveness, watchfulness and chivalry all gathered together under the auspices of the Pack that she had no real idea what they felt for her on a strictly personal basis. Just because someone is prepared to die for you does not necessarily mean that they love you. I mean, secret service agents didn’t love the president but they would take a bullet for him without hesitation. In fact they didn’t even have to like the person that they were protecting. She wondered if that was simply the case with William and Troy. Duty.

  She also had nothing to gage her own feelings against. William was actually the only man that she had ever kissed and she was pretty sure that she wouldn’t get a chance to kiss, let alone meet, another normal human being.

  How could she? One of the core team was always watching out for her. She lived in a cocoon of protection. And even if she did meet a normal boy. What then?

  ‘Hi, I’m Emily. I’m sorta a vampire. I think that I might also be part werewolf, maybe even a gargoyle. Who knows? I’m not immortal but I am so close that it makes no difference. I’ve traveled a lot but haven’t seen much of the countries that I’ve been in on account of spending a lot of time under the ground in hidden cities. Oh, I went to the river Styx once. Met Charon the ferryman of Hades. He gave me an axe. I call it Deathwalker.

  I’m stronger than an entire football team, run faster than a cheetah and could beat Bruce Lee and Chuck Norris in a fight at the same time.

  Yeah, I know – what a turn on.

  Also, I can’t cook, only started wearing proper makeup a year or so ago and oh, before I forget…I’m a bit of a mass murderer. I’m a Leo and I like taking long walks on the beach. But I don’t drink blood anymore…so that’s a plus.’

  She stood up. ‘Darn it,’ she said to herself. ‘I need to get out. Alone.’

  She left via the front window knowing that they would hear her if she left via the front door. She climbed up to the roof, invisible in the night time shadows. Then she jumped down the back of the building, headed to the station and caught a tube.

  She had been gone for over ten minutes when Troy stopped playing cards and cocked his head to one side. ‘She’s not here,’ he said.

  Immediately all of the men stood up. William rushed through to the sitting room and Tag checked the other rooms.

  ‘No one here but us,’ concurred Tag.

  ‘Right,’ said William. ‘I’ll wait in case she comes back. You lot split up. Troy and Sylvian take the roofs. Dietz, Tag, Bastian. The streets. Go gentlemen. Find her and protect her.’

  ***

  Emily took the tube to Temple Station and then walked to the center of London. Not the three hundred-year-old plaque in Trafalgar Square that marks the traditional center of the city but an obscure spot next to an old Victorian bench in front of King’s College. The actual geographical center.

  She sat on the bench and allowed her senses to roam.

  On a whim, she was trying something that she had never attempted before. She could vaguely feel the Pack wandering the city. As well as that she could connect with the many gargoyles. But instead of communicating with them she merely let her mind wash over them. Linking with their unconscious as opposed to the conscious thoughts. Trying to feel what they felt, or even see what they were seeing. Hoping for some sort of drone’s-eye view of the city.

  As she scanned, she could feel William and Troy. They were concerned. Looking for her. She knew that she should put their minds at ease but she simply needed some time alone.

  She relaxed more, obtaining an almost Zen-like state

  And then she saw all. But the images were jumbled up in her head. Too many all at once, flooding her senses. Confusing – like some sort of 60’s acid flashback. Or an early MTV Video. Disjointed and random. So she pushed them all to the back of her mind, allowing only the strongest feelings to come through. And she felt the pull. She felt fear.

  She stood up and walked over to the front of King’s College. Then she scaled the walls and headed for the roof. There she stood for a while, looking out over London. The Eye. The Gherkin building. The iconic skyline.

  As soon as she had her bearings she started to move, running and jumping from building to building. Heading west towards Mayfair. Not sure why, simply following her feeling. All the time the flashing images assailed her senses, but she kept them at the back of her mind, instead allowing only the simple gut feelings to permeate through. Skimming on a subconscious level. Following the scent of someone’s fear. Their panic.

  This was something that the Pack could do with ease. Especially when they were full wolf. A normal wolf can hear a conversation from almost eight miles away. Its sense of smell is over one hundred times greater than a humans and its eyesight is more sensitive to movement than the highest grade of military motion detector. And the Pack were not normal wolves. In fact they were to a wolf as an Olympic athlete is to a toddler. In short, as long as one of the Pack was within a couple of city blocks of an incident then Emily would know.

  The Daywalker stayed on the rooftops as she traveled, moving at super-speed, exploding across major roads, keeping to the moonlight and neon-created shadows. Letting the feeling pull her west like an iron axe head to a lodestone.

  It took her mere minutes to complete a trip that would have taken almost an hour by car and not less than half of that on foot.

  There are around one hundred acts of criminal violence reported every day in London and surrounds. Considering that this is a city of almost nine million souls that is not a bad statistic, unless, of course, you happen to be one of those one hundred
people. Then that crime rate is very high indeed.

  But it also remains a fact that, if you can cover enough ground and you have the ability to feel fear, then you are pretty much assured of encountering at least one of those criminal acts.

  Below her was an alleyway, a shortcut from the Five Star Connaught Hotel to the parking garages on the High Street. Low lighting, no line of sight from the main street or the hotel. A perfect place to ambush wealthy patrons after they had had a bite to eat or a drink at the hotel and were now heading back to their car.

  Three men were holding a middle aged couple at knifepoint. Moonlight glittered off the woman’s bejeweled fingers and ruby studded necklace. The man’s gold Rolex and diamond pinky ring a further testament to easy pickings.

  The man was on his knees and blood ran freely down the side of his face. Above his eye a bone-deep cut. One of the thug’s blades was a dull red.

  All three criminals were laughing. Forced, high pitched faux-mirth that they thought enhanced their macho-ness. Their street vibe. It showed how little they cared.

  Look at us, we’re bad, we’re mean. And we enjoy it so much that we laugh while we do it.

  And then vengeance dropped from the sky.

  The woman screamed and all three thugs flinched.

  ‘What the hell?’ Shouted one. ‘Where did you come from?’

  Emily wasn’t in the mood for banter or wisecracks. Instead she dispatched the three criminals swiftly and efficiently. Four seconds later all three lay on the floor, arms and legs bent at impossible angles. Their knives were all stuck deep into an adjacent Oak tree, only their hilts protruding.

  She helped the victim to his feet and inspected the cut. ‘You’ll need stitches,’ Em told him. ‘Here,’ she took his handkerchief from his top pocket, wadded it up and pushed it against the wound. ‘Keep pressure on. Go to the hotel. They’ll call someone to help.’