Marcus was jumping to conclusions about the situation. He could try a quick test to be sure. If he was wrong, there’d be no harm done except they’d have to send someone else to check out the club. If he was right, then that was a dire development, and Menkaure was correct. He secretly hoped Menkaure was just being lazy.
He reached the bottom of the ramp. Unexpectedly, he whirled on both of the guards, deliberately making his movement sudden and hostile. He dropped all pretense and manifested the presence that came with over two thousand years of experience.
The nearest guard stumbled backward so quickly that he lost his balance and fell to the ground. The other guard backed up and drew his weapon, a small MP5K-PDW–model submachine gun. He stammered out a warning.
“Don’t try anything.” He was trying to sound brave, but it came out panicked and unsure.
Marcus let his presence ooze from him like a miasma; he filled it with scorn and contempt, knowing these two would be able to pick up on the emotions. He let them know they were facing an Ancient.
He laughed with derision. “You think that thing could stop me?”
The vampire on the ground received a message in his earpiece. Marcus barely made it out, but wanted confirmation.
“What was that? Speak up!”
“This is not your demesne, you have no authority here. You…” The man stammered, as if he expected his words to provoke a terrible consequence. “… must go.”
Marcus keyed on the man’s choice of the word “demesne.” It was far too archaic. No one spoke like that these days. Who was pulling his strings? There was no point pressing the issue now; Marcus was at the disadvantage.
“Another time then.” He let the phrase hang in the night air, letting the unseen watcher know that he was not cowed. Then, after a carefully calculated moment of stillness, he turned briskly and walked back up the ramp and into the darkness.
* * *
Alex started the SUV and drove it toward Marcus as soon as he came back in sight.
Marcus opened the door and got in. Alex could tell that Marcus had his dander up.
“So?”
“So, you were right.”
“Well, that’s bad.”
“I believe that might be the understatement of the evening, my friend.”
“By the way, it gets better. Right about the time you were trying to make it to the door, those cars pulled up. No one got out. They’re just sitting there.”
“A security force?”
“Looks like.”
There were two Lincoln Town Cars parked about fifty meters behind them, engines idling, ready to cut them off.
“I see. It seems my two idiot friends down there overstepped their bounds. No doubt, they were supposed to wait for those gentlemen in the cars—a more proportional response. Now I’m sure Aguirre’s information was correct. There is another Ancient in the city and we’ve stumbled onto him.”
“Are you sure it’s an Ancient? I mean, I’ve never felt anything like that, not even around you.”
“I’m one of the good guys.”
“Right.” Alex let the word stretch out in sarcasm.
“There are more profane things than I in this world and they’ve walked its surface for eons longer than I can fathom. I haven’t survived this long by not trusting my instincts. And those say it is one of my kind. An Ancient. More powerful than we had first surmised. We have a major problem.”
“I think that’s probably the understatement of the evening. What do you want to do about those jokers in the cars?”
“Let them make the first move.”
In the old days, the UMBRA days, they’d be calling in a team to level that club just on Alex’s word. But now, nothing Alex and Marcus just knew amounted to a hill of beans. If it couldn’t hold up in court, it didn’t mean anything, and astral projections and vampiric instincts weren’t legally binding. Now the world of warrants, due process, and probable cause allowed the real monsters all the advantage they needed.
“We’re going to need to find out more of what Filip knows about this place. Try to drum up something for the DA.”
Of course, any talk with the DA meant that Lelith would hear about it and this place would be deserted by the time anyone who could do anything about it showed up.
“Agreed, and this time, I shall not skulk in shadows.”
Abruptly, Marcus jerked his head toward the police-band radio. “What was that?”
“What?”
Alex had left the volume turned down after that first bullshit call. He wasn’t going to spend the rest of his shift chasing crap calls.
Marcus’s fingers whirled the volume dial, and the dispatcher’s voice crashed in.
“… again. Ten-ninety-one Victor in progress, code eleven and code twelve. Vicinity of Liberty Square.”
“A thrope on the rampage? Are you kidding me? There’s not even a full moon for another week. It’s probably a stray dog or something. What is it with folks nowadays?”
Marcus pursed his lips together so that they formed a thin line. Alex knew that look, and he knew what Marcus was thinking.
“Damn it.”
He snatched the microphone from its clip on the side of the radio. “Fifteen Nora forty-two responding.”
Then he hit the concealed lights and, with the siren blaring, sped past the Town Cars and toward Liberty Square, the Pork and Beans projects, one of the worst areas of Miami.
13
Roeland and Arthur sat in the van, waiting for John’s signal. It had been a little over ten minutes since Rhuna had gone into the new club, and all of them were nervous.
After driving around the block to get the lay of the land, Roeland had John get out of the van so he could ambush the youngblood valet. The guard at the end of the alley was going to be a little tougher to get, but Roeland had a good idea on how to execute that.
“Blast, what is taking him so long.” Arthur peered through the windshield for John’s signal.
Roeland looked at his watch. From where they’d dropped him off it should have taken John two, maybe three minutes to move stealthily up to the youngblood. Then just seconds to dispatch him, unless something went wrong. John wasn’t overdue just yet. He was still well within the window.
The two of them sat in silence for a few more seconds. Then Arthur started squirming.
“Calm down.”
“He’s overdue, Roeland.”
Arthur reached down into the bag at his feet and pulled out a .44 Magnum Desert Eagle. He had heavily modified it, chopping down and threading the barrel so he could fit it with a long suppressor. To compensate for the loss of the front sight, he had attached a holographic sight to the top of the pistol. The arrangement looked absurd. However, it did have the advantage of being able to knock a vampire down and cause considerable injury, leaving it incapacitated long enough to finish the job. Arthur had even killed a youngblood with a head shot from it, once upon a time.
“I’m going to go help him.” Arthur unlocked the van’s door.
“Hold on a moment. Look.” Roeland was pointing to the bushes out in front of the curb where they’d first seen the valet. A flashlight was flashing intermittently at the van. John’s signal.
“Good lad. Rhuna’s been in there long enough. Let’s get in there.”
“Agreed.”
Both men exited the van. Arthur carried a long black duffel bag in his left hand and shoved the Desert Eagle under his left armpit in an effort to conceal it, yet still have it ready.
They crossed the street and moved directly into the alley. The guard at the end of the alley looked up from whatever he’d been doing when he heard them. Roeland quickened his pace and stepped a little in front of Arthur to keep Arthur’s actions partially concealed.
By the time they reached the halfway point to the door at the end of the alley, the guard had left his seat.
“Hey. You guys don’t want to come down here. Turn around.”
Roeland kept walking. J
ust a little farther.
He bought time. “Hi. We were wondering if you could give us directions.”
The guard’s hand went to his side. Roeland couldn’t tell if he had a holstered weapon there, but it made sense that he would.
“Get lost. Go on, get the fuck outta here.”
Fifteen meters away from the guard, Roeland stepped to the side suddenly. Arthur had been expecting it and fired a shot directly into the guard’s chest. Despite the suppressor, the shot was excessively loud in the close confines of the alley. Roeland broke into a full sprint, closing the distance to the fallen guard within seconds in order to finish the job.
It wasn’t necessary. The guard was dead.
“What? It’s a human.”
Arthur caught up to him. “What the hell? Why post a human as a guard?”
“No time to wonder now. Come on, come on.”
Arthur dropped the duffel bag and opened it. Roeland reached in, brought out a wrapped package, and laid it down on the alley floor. As he did so, a figure appeared at the end of the alley. It was John.
Arthur flashed him a thumbs-up sign, and John disappeared. He reappeared a moment later dragging the body of the youngblood valet.
Roeland spread out the contents of the package gingerly. It was made of six small rectangles of Semtex, a powerful explosive, strung together with detcord. Together they formed a breaching charge that would take down just about any reinforced door, with the added bonus that it turned anyone on the other side into paste. Anybody who managed to survive the blast would be in no condition to put up a fight. Roeland removed the bits of paper covering the adhesive on the breaching charge and applied it to the door.
Arthur dug through the duffel bag and laid the remaining contents out on the ground behind Roeland: shotguns, machetes, grenades.
John dropped the valet’s body and picked up a machete in each hand. He was big, athletic, a former rugby player; he’d been a prop, one the largest individuals in the scrum. His job was to dispatch any vampires that Roeland and Arthur dropped. Decapitation was his method of choice.
Roeland finished applying the shaped charge. He picked up one of the shotguns attached to a three-point sling. The sling would allow him to “drop” the shotgun, freeing his hands, yet still have the gun hang at the ready. Arthur did the same. Both shotguns were loaded with slugs, for maximum knockdown power against vampires. They might even kill youngbloods, and though an oldblood might conceivably shrug it off, it hadn’t happened yet.
Roeland picked up the last shotgun from the ground, a modified double-barreled Benelli that he’d cut down and fitted with a duckbill adapter. The attachment would funnel all the shot into a lethal horizontal fan of destruction that made clearing rooms decidedly easier.
Finally, Arthur handed each of them shooting glasses and a set of headphones. The headphones looked like the standard electronic hearing protection people wore at pistol ranges. But these were different. Known by the nickname Wolf Ears, they were an active hearing-protection system that cut down loud sounds like explosions and gunshots while amplifying soft sounds, like speech and footfalls.
They donned the glasses and hearing protection. Less than thirty seconds had gone by since Arthur had shot the guard.
Roeland took a deep breath and let it out. The moment of truth; this was the most vampires they’d ever attacked. Rhuna had better be as good as she boasted. They had to send these bloodsuckers a message that they weren’t safe anywhere.
“Paint?” he asked Arthur. He’d almost forgotten.
Arthur handed him a spray can of black paint. Roeland stepped in front of the door and painted out a symbol—Abraham’s symbol. It looked like a winged diamond bracketed by two vertical lines and bisected in the middle by a horizontal line. This whole exercise would lose much of its meaning if the vampires didn’t know who was responsible. He tossed the can aside.
“Remember. Check your targets. Rhuna is in there somewhere.”
They took up their positions, stacked next to the door, Roeland on point, Arthur behind him, and John taking up the rear position. Arthur put his left arm through the straps of the duffel bag and slung it like a backpack.
“Everyone ready?”
Arthur patted him on the shoulder and John grunted a noise of assent.
Roeland turned his face away from the door and pressed the detonator. The door disappeared in cloud of deadly fragments. He waited for a two count and then moved in, sweeping the Benelli in front of him.
Inside the small foyer at the entrance, he saw a bloodied woman getting to her feet. Half of her dress had been burned or blown away. She was covered in burns and grisly wounds. By all rights, she shouldn’t have been moving at all. That could mean only one thing.
“Oldblood!” Roeland called out.
She rounded on him at the sound of his voice, fangs extended, eyes crimson.
He squeezed one trigger and the shotgun jerked in his hand. The fan of shot nearly cut her in half. He couldn’t count her as down; oldbloods had been known to survive worse. Roeland moved past her to let John do his work.
He moved to the remnants of a bead curtain at the entrance to the next room. He could hear sounds of carnage coming from the other side. He was dimly aware of the butchering sounds behind him as John finished the female vampire. Holding the shotgun at waist level, he swept into the next room.
And walked into a battle.
Vampire attacked vampire in a violent rampage of ichor and carnage. The room was in shambles, the coppery tang of blood thick in the air. He noted two bleeders huddled behind an overturned table as the vampires near them attacked each other.
Rhuna had started early! And she had outdone herself this time.
Roeland barely had time to register the bedlam. His training took over. He checked his corner and moved into the room, his eyes sweeping for Rhuna. He didn’t see her.
“Hot!” He yelled their signal to indicate that his fire zone was free of allies and they could fire indiscriminately.
He heard Arthur and John call out in turn, almost simultaneously, “Hot!”
He fired the Benelli and cut down several vampires. He tossed the duckbill shotgun aside and brought the slug shotgun on the sling up to his shoulder.
One of the bleeders broke cover and came toward him.
“Don’t shoot! We’re humans!” the woman yelled, holding her hands in the air.
No, not humans anymore. They were part of the problem. They were bleeders. He fired a slug into her and racked the shotgun, loading the next round into the chamber.
He moved through the room firing slugs into the vampires and bleeders alike. They were so intent on fighting one another in the throes of the blood frenzy that they hadn’t realized the new threat among them.
He fired blast after blast. He heard Arthur’s shotgun firing nearly as an echo of his own.
In a moment, it was over.
He took a knee, reaching into his vest for more ammunition, and called out, “Reloading!”
He shoved slug after slug into the shotgun. This was when he was most vulnerable. He racked it and brought the shotgun back to ready, his eyes sweeping the room for movement.
Nothing. He turned his head quickly to assess the others. Arthur’s shotgun hung loose in front of him from the sling. He had transitioned to the Desert Eagle. John made short work of prone vampires, his machetes thudding home, sending heads rolling free.
Roeland heard sounds of combat coming from a side room and moved to it, weapon at the ready. The sounds stopped as he crossed the threshold and he saw the source.
Rhuna was putting the finishing touches on a fallen vampire. There were at least six others, or parts of six others, who looked like she’d torn them limb from limb. He’d never seen her do this much damage.
She rose from all fours as she saw him. The feline characteristics she’d taken on melted away as she stood. She stood before him naked. The stockings were the only part of her outfit that had survived her rampage i
n any shape to be recognizable. They were drenched in blood, as was her hair, now a blood-splattered white.
She snarled an acknowledgment as she saw him, and his stomach clenched in terror. He was sure she could make it across the room to him before he’d be able to yell, much less get off a shot. Despite himself, he felt real panic at seeing her in midtransformation.
“Be right back.” He retreated from the room. She looked more dreadful than he had ever seen her. What terrible force had he allowed to become his ally? Had he made a deal with the Devil to deliver vengeance on the vampires?
He moved toward Arthur.
“Change of clothes. And blood.”
“Is Rhuna okay?” John asked.
Arthur met Roeland’s eyes. Arthur understood. Arthur dropped the bag and dug around inside.
“She’s fine, John. Start prepping the room. We’re gone in five.”
Arthur tossed him some coveralls and slid a plastic pint of blood across the floor. Roeland retrieved both and went back to Rhuna’s room.
She was scraping bits of gore off her body with her hands. He threw her the coveralls.
“Where’s Molony?”
She indicated the direction with a tilt of her head. Roeland noticed she was bleeding from puncture marks in her upper arm.
“What happened?”
She looked down and her face flushed. Then she turned away hurriedly, blocking the sight of her arm with her body.
“It’s nothing.”
It was the first time he could remember Rhuna showing any hint of modesty. There’d be time for questions later.
He found Molony in a booth, eviscerated and missing an arm. He had lost too much blood, but for the moment, he was still alive.
Roeland held up the pack of blood. Molony’s eyes tracked it.
“The blood is the life, isn’t it, Molony?”
“You’re fucking dead. That little fucking bitch thrope—the lot of you.” His voice was a ragged gasp, a wisp of its former self. The end was near. Roeland kept on guard. Vampires could be at their most dangerous when their end was certain.
Graveyard Shift Page 11