Swinging the double doors of the church open, we entered a vestibule. It was dark, the interior lit by lanterns. Most vampires shun open flame. The most they will have around them are candles and sometimes a fire in a fireplace; but vampires are actually fairly combustible, so they like to keep fire pretty far away from themselves. Plus, they could see in the dark, so they really had no need for light. To the right, the vestibule ended in a stairwell that went up, I assumed to the steeple. To the left were stairs going down to either the basement or what used to be Sunday school rooms. This was only a guess based on a childhood of going to little country churches just like this one whenever we would visit my dad’s Protestant relatives. Well, except for the desecration part.
Directly in front of us was another set of double doors for what would be the sanctuary. Light spilled from under the doors. The walls were bare of ornament except painted symbols of occultism—signs, symbols, and sigils. I recognized some, others I didn’t. Not that it mattered, it was just more blasphemous crap. Spiderwebs hung from every corner. Huge, thick spiderwebs that covered big areas. The spiderwebs were not surprising considering what met us at the sanctuary doors.
She stood almost as tall as I did. Slender as a razor, she was all arm and leg in a brilliant crimson dress. The line of her body was broken only by the swell of small breasts. Long black and gray hair flowed from her head and around her shoulders in a cascade. Her head was elongated and bulbous. Two large eyes glistened red, set in deep hollows. Above them were three more sets of matching eyes that progressively got smaller as they neared her hairline. Her nose was nonexistent, just a small bump with two pinholes for nostrils. Full red human lips that would make a hooker jealous surrounded a mouthful of tiny sharp teeth. Her entire body was covered in tiny, coarse gray hairs.
Were-spiders are freaking creepy.
One hand rose up, composed of reed-thin fingers that had five knuckles instead of three like a normal hand. Between each finger were tiny webs. Her voice was almost normal. A nice, silky alto. But her inhuman larynx gave it a metallic vibrato, making her sound almost like a machine.
“I have to search you for weapons. Don’t fight me. Just stand with your arms out and be still.”
I spread my arms and nodded for Larson to follow suit. The Were-spider stepped between the two of us. Her hair moved and from her back unfolded two more sets of spider arms. They were long, spindly, and also covered in gray hair. Waving in the air, they began to descend toward us. Her human arms extended toward the ceiling and two large spiders slid down long ropes of silk and dropped onto her hands. Perching delicately, they stood on her palms.
Both were shiny black and had long legs and bulbous bodies. I was sure if you turned them over there would be a red hourglass mark on their bellies. Black widows are normally the size of a pea and had enough venom to make a man my size sick for days. These were as big as small kittens, and I was sure they came stock from the factory with enough venom to put down an elephant. I hoped I didn’t know what she was planning to do with those two spiders. Her arms extended toward me and Larson, spiders twittering on her palms. No, surely not.
With a flurry of legs, both spiders launched off her palms. The one hit me in the chest like a baseball, hanging on to my shirt with its pointed legs. Grinding my teeth together, I managed to stay still as it crawled across my chest and under my coat. I could feel each of its legs as it moved pricking along my skin through my shirt.
Generally speaking, I don’t mind spiders. In the garden they are great and even around the house, but a venomous spider the size of a kitten actually crawling on my body where I could not see had a very high freak factor. If it bit me, I would die, painfully and pointlessly. I would see to it that the spider died with me, but that was no consolation. Closing my eyes, I pushed breath through my nose to calm myself.
“Deacon ...” Hoarse and brittle, Larson’s voice sounded like glass that was cracking under pressure. Shit. I am a badass monster killer and these spiders were making me edgy. Larson was a plain old human who was working on almost no sleep and the stress of his family’s safety sitting on his shoulders. These things had to be pushing him into the red zone. Damn it. He couldn’t freak out now; if he did, he was as good as dead.
“Be cool, man. Just relax. This will be over in a minute.” I tried to send calming thoughts to him.
The spider woman laughed. “Yes, be still. My pets will finish their job soon enough.” It should be true; I sincerely hoped it was. My spider had made a few trips around my chest, spiraling around my body and moving toward my legs. It paused at both guns and my cross under my shirt.
It was a relief when it made the transition to my lower body. I couldn’t feel it walking through the leather pants and I was pretty sure the thick leather would stop its fangs from penetrating.
I also hoped they were thick enough to keep it from finding the knife tucked into my boot under the leg of the pants. The knife wasn’t very big, only about nine inches long, but it had silver wire hammered into the blade. Nine inches is enough blade to hit a heart from under a ribcage. It would be better than nothing. The spider had not gone into my coat pockets, so if things went well, part of my plan was still in play. I began to talk to her to give Larson something to concentrate on besides the gigantic, deadly spider crawling around his body.
“So what’s your name, darlin’? And what is a lady like yourself doing in a place like this?” I used a cordial, almost flirty tone. It couldn’t hurt, and she was a Were, which means she was a human woman at least part of the time.
“My name is Charlotte.” Her full lips curled up into a smile. Those alien hands flourished out to the side, like a hostess on a game show. “Welcome to my web.”
Humor was not what I expected in the situation. I cocked one eyebrow up. “I must be some pig, then.”
She giggled. It was weird to say the least. Were-spiders are very alien looking to begin with. When they do things that remind you they are human, it just adds to the creepy. To see this creature with its odd-knuckled hand covering its thick red lips in a girlish manner was ... disturbing. The giggling itself was a good sign, though.
“So, why are you in with the bloodsuckers, Charlotte?”
Before she could open her mouth to answer I felt a push in the air. It ripped up from behind her and swirled around to brush into me. Her head jerked violently side to side, making black hair flail wildly around her shoulders. Her legs gave out and her body fell toward the floor like a sack of cement. The two sets of spider legs protruding from her back caught her before she hit the ground. They held her suspended in the air, the rest of her body curled in on herself. Convulsions caused her spider legs to sway side to side. I stood still against my first instinct to help her. The gigantic black widow still on my thigh made sure of that.
So, Appollonia was listening and didn’t seem to want me to know Charlotte’s answer. Dumbass vampire. Her action revealed two things: one, her familiar was spiders; and two, she, like most vampires, was forcing her familiar to act against their will. Charlotte did not want to help the vampire, she had no choice. It was good to know for the future. I hate killing the wrong people.
Charlotte was a victim. It meant I had a chance to free her of the vampire’s influence instead of killing her outright. The Were-spider in question slowly unfurled from her position and stood on shaky legs. Tremors ran up and down her limbs, rippling the gray furred skin. Odd-knuckled fingers fluttered at her hair to put it in place as she composed herself.
Larson shuddered and gave a long exhale beside me. Looking over, I saw the spider had crawled off of my leg and was now climbing the lady’s dress along with the one Larson had. Her face turned to me, red eyes glistening.
“You will have to remove your guns, both of them.” Her voice was clipped, back to being all business.
I knew it was coming, but I really hate giving up my guns. This whole scenario was creeping me out. Using both hands, I pulled out the guns. For just a moment I thought ab
out pushing past Charlotte and storming into the sanctuary, guns ablazing. I didn’t know what lay on the other side of those doors, but I was absolutely positive that I didn’t want to go in there without my guns. But trying to get past Charlotte would probably mean I would have to kill her.
Dammit.
Turning the guns handle first, I handed them toward her. Two of the spider legs descended and the sticky pads on them grabbed the guns and took them away. Charlotte dipped her head in thanks.
“Now you have to take off your crosses.” Her head cocked to the side. “Please.”
The cross came out of my shirt. I pulled it over my head and held it out to Charlotte. I motioned that she should put it on. She took a horrified step back, waving her hands frantically back and forth. She turned to a table behind her and picked up a glass jar. The liquid inside was a slight amber color. Very carefully, she removed the lid of the jar, releasing a sharp, chemical smell. “You have to put your crosses in this solution.”
Well, shit.
Larson dropped his cross into the jar while I debated with myself. As much as I hated giving up my guns, I really, really didn’t want to sacrifice the cross. It was my last line of defense. Larson’s rosary quickly dissolved, swirling darkness into the liquid. Acid. To Charlotte’s credit, she did not pressure me, just stood watching me with eight red eyes and a jar of acid in her hands.
A shrill scream from the other side of the sanctuary doors made my decision for me.
I dropped the cross and put my boot forward, stepping toward the doors without watching the crucifix pull apart like taffy as it dissolved. Now that I was disarmed, I was going in that damn room. Charlotte stepped aside before I could shove her out of the way. My hands closed on the handles to the double doors. They were cold and hard under my palms. Leaning my considerable weight back, I yanked on them with a sharp tug. The wooden doors parted toward me with no resistance and hit the walls on either side with a loud BANG! With that abrupt introduction, Larson and I entered the scene in the sanctuary.
It was almost too much to take in. The sanctuary was like most country churches. It was a big rectangle with a steeply pitched ceiling. Light filled the room from lanterns and hurricane candles hanging on the wall, and set on every surface. Pews in rows on each side of a center aisle were packed shoulder-to-shoulder with vampires. Damn, the room was filled to capacity with vampires. Probably around five or six hundred of the bloodsuckers. They did not turn to us, but instead stared straight ahead at the stage in front of them.
A deep charnel smell washed over me, the smell of rusting iron and rotting meat. Like a slaughterhouse in the summer heat. Gorge rose in my throat and I swallowed hard, forcing it down. The stage up front was where the pulpit would be in a normal church. It had been tossed aside. The altars, low benches in front of the stage, one on each side, had been covered with what appeared to be roses and body parts, tied together and glued in place with spiderwebs.
There were ten other Were-spiders in various positions hanging from huge webbed areas along the roof and walls. I could tell some were the same as Charlotte, and some were other kinds of spiders. One appeared to be a black widow Were-spider. Hopefully, they were like Charlotte and serving Appollonia against their will, but my luck would be that most of them gladly served the vampire. The half of a legion of vampires was really bad news; the Were-spiders were icing on the cake. Even if they all were serving Appollonia against their will, if she ordered them to attack, they would.
Speaking of the vampire in question, she was on the stage and she wasn’t alone.
Her back was to us as we entered. The long strands of a cat-o’-nine-tails whipped out from a long slender arm as she scourged a man chained to the front of the baptismal. I couldn’t see much of him. He was kneeling and what was left of his back was to us. She had whipped him until his skin hung in ribbons on his back. Blood wasn’t even running down his flesh. She had been at it long enough that it had congealed and sat like jelly on his flesh. Even in the low lantern light I could see the glisten of ribs. The air held the scent of iron over the smell of snakes. Blood and vampires, they go together.
To the left of the stage stood two women, I was assuming they were Larson’s mother and sister. They looked like him, with pale skin and thick red hair. Torn clothes didn’t cover up the bruises blossoming on their creamy skin. His mother was still screaming. It was her screams that had brought me into the sanctuary. The reason she was screaming, besides the horror that she was on stage with, was the man twisting her hair in his hands.
He was large and muscular, easily my size. Blond hair flowed from his head down around his shoulders, framing a face that was angular and sharp. All corners and edges, it was a face that looked angry all the time. A patchwork cloak of tanned skins and pants made of brown strips of leather that tucked into calf high boots were his only clothing. He looked like a hunter of animals. A short sword was strapped to his left side. It had a black knobby handle made of onyx or something similar. One hand was knotted full of red hair and his other was inside the neck of her sweater, closed around her breast.
Another scream tore out into the air, hoarse and filled with rage. Larson’s coat slapped into my arm as he ran past me to the stage.
“Quit touching her, you bastard!” Larson slid in a huge puddle of blood surrounding the altars. It spread out from the altars all across the front to the first pews. His arms windmilling to try to keep on his feet, Larson fell heavily. Blood, thick and slimy, splashed up over him. The man holding his mother looked down at him, laughing. Larson had gained his attention.
He had also gained the attention of Appollonia.
She turned away from her victim on the stage with a slow movement of her head. As she turned to face us, so did all the vampires in their pews. In unison, their necks moved and every vampire eye fell on me.
Creepy again.
Stepping to the front of the stage, she stood proud and haughty. Tiny, she was all of five foot tall. Long, thick locks of hair fell to her ass in big waves. Other than being covered in bloody splatter from whipping the man chained behind her, she was completely naked. Long ago she had started life with a darker skin tone, but centuries without sunlight had paled her to an olive-toned ivory. Fine muscles traced along legs that rose to a full swell of hips. Her sex was a dark thatch below a flat stomach. Full, heavy breasts stood out from a ribcage that flared out from her narrow waist. Muscled shoulders became muscled arms and a slender neck. Her face was dark with drying blood splatter.
The gore covered, but did not hide, the delicacy of her features. Thick, full lips parted in a smile to reveal white teeth, complete with small fangs. Large golden brown eyes blazed out of the blood mask and sat between a Semitic nose and thick, full eyebrows.
In her right hand she held the cat-o’-nine-tails. It dangled to the floor of the stage. Dark with congealed blood, each of its lashes were thick as a finger and glistened with interwoven bits of metal, bone, and glass. Strips of flesh clung to the evil device. This was not a bondage toy, some light flogger to bring a blush to a playmate’s bottom. No, this was the real thing. An awful, terrible weapon of punishment. No wonder the chained man looked like he had been filleted. I did not even know how he was alive still.
In her left hand was a lance. It had a thick wooden handle that was wrapped in leather and had been cut down to a shorter length, maybe four foot long overall. The head of the lance was almost a foot long and was a wavy leaf shape. It was a dull iron color with a gold center section. Something was inscribed on the blade, but I couldn’t tell what it was.
Appollonia stood on the edge of the stage looking like a dark goddess. Punishment personified. A blood-kissed Fury that radiated death and lust.
I did not want to go near that stage. Everything in me screamed to turn and leave. It was a primal reaction, deep in the lizard part of my brain. But Larson was not getting up. He kept slipping on the blood on the hardwood floor because his boots sucked. It was almost like a comedy act. The
Three Stooges meets The Texas Chainsaw Massacre. Time for me to go be the big damn hero.
Or the big damn martyr.
Slowly, carefully, I walked to where Larson was. He had stopped trying to get up and simply lay on his back, looking up at the stage. Keeping my eyes on Appollonia, I reached down and grabbed the sleeve of his duster, pulling him to his feet. When I took my hand from his arm it was covered in blood. The floor was sticky with it, like a ghetto porn theater.
If that theater was in hell.
How were this many vampires sitting so calmly when there was this much blood around them? There was blood splattered all around the stage, blood covering the blasphemed altars, and a twenty-foot pool of blood in front of the stage that was almost an inch deep. There was so much blood that the air smelled like iron.
Vampires are a lot like sharks. Blood drives them into a feeding frenzy. They should be attacking each other to try to get to the blood. They had all just risen for the night and their hunger should be at its peak. Instead, they sat, stone still as only the dead can, and watched unblinking.
If this was the level of power Appollonia had, then I knew we were dead. There was no way to win against something that powerful, especially without a cross or a gun. This realization wanted to settled down and gnaw at my bones. It wanted to make me give up, to quit, to lay down and die.
But I have a secret. I don’t give a damn if I die. It’s fine with me. That means I get to go be with my family. If today was the day I cashed in my ticket, then so be it. Now my only concerns were to try to save Larson and his family, and to take as many of these vampiric bastards with me as I could. I had to stop myself from putting my hands in the pockets of my jacket. It wasn’t time for that. Not yet.
Appollonia stared down at us calmly from the edge of the stage. Everything was silent as she appraised me. It was a cool look that went from the top of my head to the bottom of my feet. The look was full of dark promise, heavy with an arrogant lust. She stood in naked glory with eyes just for me. When it came, her voice matched her eyes and rolled out with a soft, sensual purr.
Blood and Bullets Page 16