Emily Shadowhunter - Book 1: VAMPIRE HUNTER

by Small Dog Publishing

  ‘Apologies, Ambros. But I thought that you’d like to meet Emily. I picked her up this morning.’

  The old man turned to face them, staring intently at Emily as he did so. The first thing that the young girl noticed about him was his eyes. Deep purple. Like they had been carved from pure amethyst and then backlit. She shivered slightly as she felt the power behind them and a thrill of real fear ran through her.

  Then they suddenly changed, the light dimmed and the color faded to a light blue. The man smiled and everything was all right.

  He stepped forward, his hand held out in front of him. ‘My darling Emily,’ he greeted as he took her hands in his and held them. ‘It is an honor and a privilege to have you here with us.’

  He stared intently at her for a few seconds and then nodded. ‘I can see your father and your mother in you,’ he said. ‘But you favor your mother’s side. Fair of skin and of appearance. Welcome, my child. I am Sir Ambros, the current leader of this little enclave of souls. How are you settling in?’

  ‘Actually, I’ve just got here,’ answered Emily. ‘Haven’t even seen my room yet.’

  ‘Scandalous,’ said Ambros with a grin. ‘And I’d bet that you’re hungry as well.’

  Emily nodded. ‘Starving,’ she admitted.

  ‘That’ll be the change,’ observed Ambros. ‘The kitchen is always open. Tell any of the servants that you want food and they will see to it. Try to get at least five or six full meals a day inside of you for the next week. More if you can. The change consumes an enormous amount of fuel so make sure that you keep the fires well stoked. Now, Nathan, show our young lady her room. She can meet everyone at dinner tonight after she’s had time to have something to eat, then rest and bathe.’

  Nathan nodded and led Emily back to her room, leaving her at the door. ‘I’ll send someone to fetch you for dinner,’ he said. ‘Seven o’clock. If you need a snack or actually, anything at all, there’s a pull cord next to the bed. Give it a yank and a servant will come and tackle your order.’

  The room was huge. More of a suite than a bedroom. A leather sofa, two wingback chairs, a coffee table plus a four seater dining table. A large flat screen television and a dock for an iPod or iPhone. Emily had neither. She had never had any use for a cell phone and she had always streamed her music or played it on the old vinyl records that Bart and Ryoko owned.

  Her suitcase was placed on the end of her bed and when she opened it she found it to be empty. After checking the freestanding wardrobe on the one wall she found all of her clothes already hung up or folded in the drawers.

  She was surprised to find that, apart from the clothes that she had brought with her, there were at least another five full outfits. All were a simple variation on a theme, black, thick cotton and leather, long coats, calf high boots. She tried one of the coats on. It was superbly tailored, snug fitting with no shiny buttons or any loose epaulettes or tags. Simple and elegant and practical.

  It was obvious that the outfits were some sort of a uniform. She opened the door that led to the bathroom. An oversized four claw, free standing tub graced the center of the room. In the corner a walk in shower large enough for a troop of dancers, with a showerhead the size of a serving platter. Emily smiled happily and turned the water on. It cascaded from the head and thundered onto the tiles like a tropical monsoon as she stripped down and stepped into the steaming deluge.

  The hot water was bliss as she soaped herself into a foaming lather, rinsed, turned the water off and then donned a plush cotton robe that hung on the back of the door as well as slipping on a pair of white flannel bath slippers.

  As she went through to the bedroom she checked the time. Her watch said that it was 5:48 but she quickly realized that it was still on Alaskan time. That made it 1:48 local. Time for something to eat and then a nap before dinner.

  She pulled the bell cord but heard nothing and assumed that the corresponding bell was too far away to register aurally. Surprisingly there was a knock on the door almost instantly so she walked over and opened it. There stood a woman dressed in a classic Victorian maid’s outfit. Long coarse black dress, lace up boots, a white pinafore over the top and a white frilly bonnet pulled down over her ears.

  Emily smiled but the maid didn’t react. She simply stood still and stared blankly ahead.

  Eventually Emily spoke. ‘Umm…hi. I’m rather hungry and I was hoping that you may be able to fetch me something to eat.’

  The maid turned away and walked off. Her movements steady and careful. Almost as though she was drunk and had to concentrate on keeping herself upright and mobile.

  ‘Now that’s an odd one,’ said Emily to herself. ‘Oh well, not long until dinner.’

  There was a chill in the air after her shower so Emily decided to light a fire and was happy to note that it had already been laid. On a shelf next to the inglenook stood a wooden box of extra long matches. She struck one and held it to the paper that stuck out from under the pile of logs and kindling. It took instantly and, within a couple of minutes, the seasoned wood crackled and spat, filling the room with gentle, comforting warmth.

  At the same time there was a knock on the door. She opened it to reveal the self-same maid, this time wheeling a trolley laden with silver cloche-covered dishes. Again without talking she wheeled the trolley next to the dining table and proceeded to lay out a full meal. The cloches were picked up to reveal a whole roasted chicken, steamed vegetables, fried potatoes and a jug of thick gravy. Finally a slab of chocolate cake and a small jug of cream.

  Emily’s mouth started watering as she thanked the maid. But once again there was no visible reaction so she simply sat down and tucked in.

  After she had eaten, Emily set the alarm on her wrist watch, staggered to her bed, dropped her robe, shucked off her slippers and crawled under the goose-down duvet, falling asleep almost as her head touched the pillow. Jet lagged into peaceful oblivion.

  Chapter 5

  Nathan had fetched her for dinner. Unsure of what to wear, Emily had chosen one of the black outfits in her closet, snug fitting leather trousers that were as soft as velvet, a black tailored blouse and calf-length black boots. A midnight symphony in fashion.

  As she cast her eyes over the people seated at the dining table, she was glad of her decision to dress in the clothes provided, as everyone else was also clad totally in black.

  Ambros, who was seated at the head of the table, stood and greeted her as she entered.

  ‘Emily, my dear, welcome.’ He turned to address the others at the table. ‘Good people, may I introduce Emily Hawk, our newest Shadowhunter.’

  Aside from Nathan, there were five other people seated at the table. Four men and one woman.

  Ambros started to introduce them.

  ‘Lyle Potton,’ he said. ‘Another American.’

  Lyle gave Emily a thumb up. ‘Yo, Emily.’

  Emily nodded her acknowledgment of his greeting as she took quick stock of him. Lyle was huge. Not merely tall but also obscenely sumo- wrestler fat. His face a moon-like ball on top of a neck that consisted mainly of double chins above a barrel shaped body. Arms and legs like tree trunks.

  The next to be introduced was a wiry looking man, five ten, complete with dreadlocks and Rastafarian bead necklace, the red, yellow and green standing out against the solemn black of his clothes.

  His name was Bastian Miller and he stood and bowed deeply as he greeted Emily. ‘My lady, it is an honor.’

  Again Emily nodded.

  Next in line was the only other girl in the room. Josephine Brady. She was tiny with a build similar to Ryoko.

  Her dark hair was long and lank and she wore makeup like it was a defensive mask, thick purple eye shadow, scarlet lips and pale base. In her mouth an unlit cigarette.

  She waved to Emily but didn’t meet her gaze, her eyes flickering from side to side and head cocked. She reminded Emily of a bird. A falcon.

  After Josephine had been introduced, the next man stood up. Karl Wagner. Bot
h his guttural accent and his looks marked him as the quintessential German. Six foot, pale blue eyes. Close cropped blond hair. Very short back and sides. Round steel rimmed eyeglasses. Eyebrows so blond as to be almost invisible, giving him an expressionless look. Disconcerting and slightly disturbing.

  The final Shadowhunter was a South African. Piet Van Staden. Six foot three and built like a pro-wrestler. His shoulders and biceps strained against the cotton of his shirt and his neck was so thick it made his head look fractionally too small. He sported a short, cropped beard and his eyes were black pebbles, his lips a cruel slash. On the left side of his face a vivid scar ran from temple to chin, like a purple lightning bolt. Emily could sense that, out of all of the people in the room, this was a very dangerous man. Easily the most dangerous human being that she had ever met. His aura projected a barely constrained violence. As if he had literally been dragged straight from a battle in order to attend the dinner and he was less than happy about it.

  When he spoke it was as if he wasn’t used to verbal communication, the words coming out in short, grammatically incorrect chunks.

  ‘Hello, Emily. To meet you I is pleased. If anything you does need. Ask me. If I’s can help, I will.’

  ‘Thank you, Piet,’ acknowledged Emily. ‘That’s very sweet of you; I’ll bear that in mind.’

  The big man grunted, blushed at the compliment and then sat down heavily, scowling at the table in order to cover his embarrassment.

  ‘Aah, Piet, you’re so sweet. What an absolute angel, would you like a pat on the head,’ teased Lyle as he made wet kissy sounds.

  Piet glared at him and then shook his head disgustedly and went back to scowling at the table. Ambros ushered Emily to a chair in between Nathan and Bastian and, as soon as she sat down, a procession of servants started to bring in the evening meal. And although she had eaten a mere couple of hours ago she was ravenous again.

  Piles of inch thick rump steaks, fries, slices of smoked ham, corn on the cob, poached eggs and Waldorf salad. Emily piled her plate high, noticing that everybody else was doing the same. Except for Lyle who simply pulled one of the serving platters of steak over to his place setting, threw a diverse amount of sides on top of it and got to eating.

  Emily watched him for a while, fascinated at how swiftly he was consuming his food. He worked like an automaton, both hands moving in concert, left, right, left. Shoveling food into his chewing jaws, swallowing, chewing and swallowing again. An industrial garbage disposal unit.

  He glanced up and noticed Emily watching him.

  ‘This is how a real man eats,’ he said, his mouth full of masticated steak. ‘It’s quite a turn on, isn’t it?’

  Before Emily could answer, Piet pointed at the huge man. ‘Watch your mouth, fat boy,’ he growled. ‘Don’t make me come over there and teach you some manners.’

  Lyle sneered at the Afrikaner but Emily noticed that he didn’t push the point.

  The rest of the meal was spent in almost total silence and every time that Emily attempted to strike up any sort of discussion it was met with a one or two word answer, followed by silence. After ten minutes she started to feel a little uncomfortable.

  Eventually Nathan, sensing her discomfort, addressed her directly. ‘Don’t get disheartened,’ he advised. ‘It’s always like this at meal times. The odd bit of sniping between Piet and Lyle…well, actually between someone and Lyle and then the rest is simply people stuffing their faces.’

  ‘Jealousy,’ interjected the fat man. ‘People rib on me because they’re consumed with envy. Six hundred pounds of concentrated Alpha male enters the room and the green eyed monster rears its ugly head. No worries though,’ he continued. ‘When you’re as attractive as me you just gotta learn to live with the cupidity. Fortunately, I’m a big enough man to take it.’ He hoovered up a handful of fries as he spoke, displaying a mouthful of chewed potato.

  Emily shuddered.

  ‘Hey, you bong belly pickney slabba,’ said Bastian, using the Jamaican vernacular. ‘Shut your fat face or I come over there and stick my foot up your ass.’

  ‘Talk English,’ retaliated Lyle. ‘I know that you can.’

  ‘Aah, kiss me backside you fassy hole.’

  ‘Enough,’ said Ambros. Both Bastian and Lyle immediately stopped their bantering and concentrated on their food again. Ambros shook his head and smiled at Emily. ‘You’d think that after a hundred years or so they would learn to stop acting like children, wouldn’t you?’

  Emily nodded.

  ‘Anyway,’ continued the old man. ‘Nathan is correct, meal times are not great for socializing. Due to the massive calorific intake that a Shadowhunter needs, they tend to view meals as simple refueling exercises.

  Formal dinners are the exception. But never fear, you’ll get to know everyone better tomorrow morning at training. I recommend that you get a good night’s sleep, I’m sure that you are still more than a little jet-lagged. I’ll send one of the chaps to show you to the dojo in the morning. Set your alarm for seven, ready by seven thirty.’

  Emily nodded and then applied herself to her food like everyone else at the table as she scarfed down her meal like a trencherman.

  Chapter 6

  The dojo was vast. Big enough for at least sixty plus people to train comfortably. The seven Shadowhunters looked lost in the huge open space.

  ‘Why is it so big?’ Emily asked Bastian, who had shown her to the dojo after fetching her from her room.

  ‘Times gone by there used to be many more Shadowhunters,’ he answered.

  ‘Where have they gone?’

  Bastian shrugged. ‘Depends on your belief system, I suppose. If you’re a Buddhist, reborn. Christian, heaven. Muslim, resurrection. Me, I believe in Zion.’

  ‘Hold on,’ said Emily. ‘You mean that they’re all dead?’

  ‘As the Dodo,’ confirmed Bastian.

  ‘How?’

  ‘It’s one of those side effects you get when you spend your whole time fighting almost unkillable undead beings with fangs and claws. A lot of us end up underground in wooden boxes.’

  ‘But aren’t we supposed to be like superfast and megastrong?’

  Bastian raised an eyebrow. ‘You ever seen a vamp?’

  Emily shook her head. ‘I don’t think so.’

  ‘That would be a no then,’ confirmed the Ratsa. ‘You would remember if you had. Well, we’re fast and strong but they is faster. Maybe not stronger but close. Also they heal real quick. I mean, so do we but they heal almost instantaneously. Makes them damn hard to kill.’

  ‘So what’s the point then?’ Asked Emily. ‘How can we beat them?’

  Bastian grinned. ‘We train. They may be quicker but we’re meaner. We got skills, girl. And we got weapons. Silver edged swords, silver bullets, lots of firepower. Come on, train with me first, then you can spend a bit of time with Piet, he’s number one with bladed weapons.’

  Emily followed the Rasta to a sparring mat on the side of the dojo, a standard twenty six foot by twenty six foot.

  ‘Right,’ said Bastian. ‘Let’s fight.’

  Emily bowed and then assumed a standard Bow Stance or Gong Bu, leading leg in front and slightly bent, trailing foot angled at a forty five degree angle.

  It was a great stance for attacking. The structure of it allowing her to punch with greater power by driving the rear leg into the ground as well as ensuring that her rear leg could be quickly drawn forward for kicking attacks.

  She waited for Bastian to assume a position before she started. But to her surprise he didn’t. Instead he danced from side to side in front of her, his body position low, arms weaving a pattern in front of his chest as he moved. It was hypnotic. A snake charmer’s flute to a cobra.

  Then he rolled and jumped up, swinging his foot in a circle and cracking it alongside Emily’s head. She rocked sideways as the blow landed and then she swept her leading foot forwards in an attempt to unbalance him. But he was no longer there as he danced away, spinning and
rolling. A constantly moving target.

  Again he spun and struck, his foot connecting with Emily’s knee, sending her crashing to the floor.

  She rolled away and flicked her legs, springing back onto her feet as she did. Bastian danced sideways, tucking and rolling and jumping as he did.

  Emily shook her head and then crouched low, assuming the stance of the Tiger, her hands clawed in front of her, muscles relaxed as she prepared for explosive power.

  She knew that she had to stop Bastian moving. Somehow she had to get hold of him and then strike hard and fast as soon as she did.

  Bastian noted her change of tactic and nodded his approval.

  And then he blurred into movement, legs sweeping, fists striking, elbow and knees smashing into Emily as he spun around her at blinding speed.

  She went down under a welter of blows and before she could pick herself up Bastian had her in a savage choke hold. Just before she blacked out, Bastian let go, stood up and helped her to her feet.

  ‘Breathe,’ he said.

  Emily took a deep breath and then socked the Rasta on the shoulder. ‘What the hell? I thought that we were sparring. What’s with the whole kicking my butt thing?’

  Bastian stared at her, his face deadly serious. ‘Emily,’ he said. ‘At the Olympus Foundation when we train, we don’t spar. We fight. Properly.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I assume that you have sparred before,’ countered Bastian.

  ‘Every day,’ admitted Emily.

  ‘Not to put too fine a point on it,’ continued Bastian. ‘But it didn’t do you much good, did it? I kicked your ass without even raising a sweat and I can see that you’re at least a first degree black belt. Plus the fact that you’re uber strong and fast.’

  ‘Yeah well you wouldn’t stand still. What’s with all the dancing?’

  ‘It’s called Capoeira,’ he answered. ‘It’s a fast and versatile martial art from Brazil. It was developed for fighting when you’re outnumbered or at a technological disadvantage.’ He somersaulted forward and flicked a kick over Emily’s head to demonstrate. ‘The style emphasizes using the lower body to kick, sweep and take down and the upper body to assist those movements as well as attacking. You use a series of complex positions and body postures which you chain together in an uninterrupted flow so that you can strike, dodge and move without breaking motion. Makes it seriously unpredictable. And when you’re fighting a bunch of Vamps you gotta keep moving ’cause those suckers are as quick as crap out of a goose. Come on, I’ll teach you.’