Sabrina's Clan

by Tracy Cooper-Posey

  This man had used the net in exactly the same way. He had thrown the net so it tangled up the gargoyle’s wings, preventing it from flying away. The net had also caught the gargoyle’s elbow spikes, disabling its arms.

  Then the man must have jumped up onto its back, using the net for climbing. Now he had a knife in both hands, the long blade pointed down at the gargoyle’s head. Nothing the gargoyle did was dislodging him. The net was helping him anchor himself down.

  As Nyanther took in the astounding sight, the gargoyle trumpeted his alarm and fury and spun around in a tight circle, trying to get at the man.

  “The base of the neck!” Nick cried. “Straight in from there!” He was directing the man.

  There was a scrambling sound to Nyanther’s left and the bushes swayed. Then Riley pushed through. She wasn’t on her feet. She was crawling and it looked like she hadn’t had to work too hard to get through, either.

  Crawling. Why hadn’t he thought of that?

  “Now!” Nick yelled at the man, as Riley stood up and pulled out her katana.

  The man thrust the long knife in deep, using all his bodyweight to drive it straight into the gargoyle’s skull.

  The gargoyle screamed and became utterly still, a towering mountain of bestial power.

  The red in the eyes faded.

  The man twisted the blade with a vicious wrench.

  The gargoyle pitched forward, toward Riley. Nick leapt toward her and pulled her out of the way.

  As the gargoyle hit the ground with an impact that jarred the earth under Nyanther’s feet, it broke up into rocks and pebbles, a huge mound of them. The man leapt lightly off the top of it and landed on the dirt next to Nyanther and blew out his breath.

  “Damn, he was stubborn,” he said, sounding amused. “Guess I showed him.” There was more than an ounce of satisfaction and pleasure in his tone.

  “Who are you?” Riley asked, coming up to him. She kept the katana in her hand.

  “I could ask you the same thing,” the man said, brushing his hands on his jeans. “I thought I was the only one who knew about these things.”

  “Gargoyles?” Nick said. There was a faint sound of confusion in his voice. If Nick was confused, then Nyanther knew it wasn’t just him wondering if he’d stepped into an alternative universe.

  “That’s what they are?” the man said. “I didn’t know.”

  “You said ‘they’,” Riley said. “Are you the one who killed Ingong four days ago?”

  “They have names, too?” he asked. He showed no surprise at the news that another gargoyle had been killed recently. “What, are you guys naturalists or something?”

  “Or something,” Riley said flatly. “Who are you?” she repeated.

  The man smiled and held out his hand, which was smeared with ichor and dirt. “Sorry. I’m Jake Summerfield.”

  Chapter Seven

  Jake waved his filthy hand in front of his face, trying to disperse the air. “It stinks here,” he added. “Do you think…could we head back to town and get breakfast and talk there? I’m so tired my face is trying to slide off my skull. I need coffee.” Which was true. Once he had found the nest, around one in the morning, he had hunkered down inside the bushes rimming it and waited. He had only dozed lightly, too wired with a hot mix of adrenaline, fear and anxiety to really sleep properly, even though if he had fallen asleep, the return of the creature the tall man had called a gargoyle would have woken him.

  Gargoyles. The name seemed fitting, except he had always thought gargoyles were the little stone decorations on old buildings.

  The tall man looked at the woman—who was gorgeous in a white and pink Vivien Leigh sort of way—and the other, almost as if he was silently conferring with them.

  Jake waited them out. They clearly had been here to deal with the…gargoyle. Now it was dead, there was time to sort this out. So long as it was somewhere far away from the stench. He would never forget this smell. He would never smell it again without it triggering him into reaching for a weapon.

  The woman nodded. “The diner on the highway out of Lake Placid. We need to wash up first. They’ll arrest us, otherwise, especially him.” She nodded at Jake.

  “My truck is about three miles from here,” Jake said.

  The other man, who was shorter than the tall one by a mere inch and was possibly as tall as Jake on flat ground, had very light eyes. Jake wondered if it was a trick of the low light. Even though dawn was coming, it was still very dark in among the trees. He had shaggy black hair curling around the base of his neck and a three day growth that made his pale flesh stand out in contrast. He tilted his head at Jake at the mention of the truck.

  “In the public car park by the tourist center?” he said.

  “That’s the one,” Jake confirmed. “Why?”

  “Did you notice the Lexus in the car park?” the woman asked.

  Jake shrugged. “I can’t say I did. There were a few cars there.”

  “You’d better start paying attention to details,” the tall man told him. “It might save your life one day.” He turned away. “Come on. I want to wash this stink away myself.”

  It was an odd thing to say, but these three people were strange in ways that Jake was only just starting to process. They all carried swords. Swords. It seemed old-fashioned, although Jake had a feeling there was a good reason for using them instead of the butterfly knife he had, even though moving a sword around in public would create challenges the folding butterfly knife did not.

  He picked up the knife, wiped it off on a handful of leaf litter, then hauled the net out from among the rocks and pebbles, shook it off and stashed it back in his backpack, which had been stuffed underneath the bushes where he had left it. He moved slowly because the thing, the gargoyle, had scratched his arm, high up on the biceps. He fished the antihistamine spray out of the pocket of the backpack and sprayed the wound. The agony eased almost immediately. It would be late afternoon before he got much strength or movement back in the arm, though. At least it was his left arm.

  Then he crawled out of the clearing and brushed off his hands and knees. The other three were already out and waiting for him.

  The woman spotted the rip in his jacket. “You’ve been scratched!” she exclaimed and real fear colored her voice.

  “Yeah, it got me a good one when I was climbing up its back. They can reach right around behind them. Once I get up above their shoulders, though, they can’t reach me.” He fingered the rent in the sleeve and shrugged.

  “We have to get him home, quickly,” she told the other two, urgency in her voice.

  “Maybe my blood used directly would work?” the shorter man said.

  “What’s the issue?” Jake asked. “I’ve sprayed it. I’ll be fine.”

  They all stared at him.

  “What?” he repeated.

  “You sprayed it?” the tall one asked, sounding only mildly curious.

  Caution flooded him. Jake realized there was something he didn’t understand about this whole situation. There were things they didn’t understand, either, apparently. “Spray,” he repeated. “The first time I got a scratch, the burning warned me it was toxic—I’ve done a lot of diving and some of the things down among the coral are poisonous enough to kill you, so I know the signs. I got myself to an organic biologist friend of mine and he broke down the toxin and developed a spray. He called it an antihistamine, but that’s a joke. The spray neutralizes the toxin, only my arm will be almost useless for hours now. I try not to get scratched too often. This one tonight made me hurry.”

  They were all staring at him again.

  “So what am I missing?” Jake asked impatiently.

  “Gargoyle bites and scratches kill people,” the woman said gently. “Nyanther, here, is the only one I’ve ever known to survive a bite and it took him two thousand years to recover from it.”

  Jake glanced at the shorter man. Nyanther. The name was weird.

  Then he registered what the woman ha
d said. “Two thousand years?” He spun to look at Nyanther, to really look at him.

  Nyanther smiled and it was a predatory thing. “Hi.”

  Jake breathed slow and deep. “Two thousand years,” he said again, tasting it. “Are you some sort of…immortal?”

  The taller one laughed and brushed passed him, heading into the bush. “You have no trouble dealing with gargoyles, who have been preying on humans since the Romans walked the earth, but the idea of vampires sends you into a tailspin?” he said over his shoulder.

  Vampires.

  Jake felt dizzy. He bent over and put his hands on his knees, breathing harder. “Oh, shit….” he whispered.

  The woman grabbed his arm to hold him steady and he jerked away from her touch.

  “I’m quite human,” she said, with a smile.

  As he was about to find out, that wasn’t the whole truth.

  * * * * *

  Nyanther recognized what Nick was doing to Jacob Summerfield. Damian had done the same thing with him, thirty years ago, when he had first emerged into the twentieth century. It was the equivalent of dumping a non-swimmer in the deep end of the pool and letting them figure out how to swim in order to save themselves. If Jake was to survive this world he’d invited himself into, then he would need the strength and pragmatism required to deal with all the fast flowing facts Nick was throwing at him.

  As they hiked back to the cars and cleaned up using the cloths and water in Nick’s Lexus, Nick bombarded Jake with the raw truth—vampires, gargoyles, demons, demon hunters and every other supernatural they’d ever come across. The raw facts about the sub-world hunters lived in, that humans had no idea existed.

  Except Jake Summerfield had somehow found that world, all by himself.

  Nyanther wondered if Jake would actually meet them at the diner as agreed or if he would take off in his rented Ford Explorer and never come back, too freaked by Nick’s talk of all things strange and unnatural.

  They picked one of the biggest booths in the diner and Riley was on her third coffee and second serving of toast and honey when Jake finally slid onto the end of the bench next to Nyanther.

  He looked a lot different from the man they’d first seen on the back of the gargoyle, knife in hand.

  He’d showered and changed into a suit that wouldn’t look out of place on the streets of lower Manhattan and had brushed his damp blond hair back sleekly. There was a heaviness about his bright blue eyes, though, that spoke of a night without sleep and physical exhaustion.

  Riley did an almost comical double-take at his changed appearance. She lowered her coffee mug to the tabletop slowly.

  “I have a board meeting at noon and a plane flight at eight,” he explained.

  “Board meeting?” Nick raised his brow.

  “Summerfield Investments,” Nyanther said, recalling the name. He rolled his eyes. “You’re that Summerfield. No wonder you have organic biologists with full laboratories at your fingertips.”

  Nick just looked at him.

  “My family has interests in biotech and weapons research, among other things,” Jake said quietly.

  “Also high tech,” Nyanther added. “Digital weaponry and some of the most sophisticated artificial intelligence out there.”

  “Nyanther is our computer hacker,” Riley said to Jake.

  Jake looked at him. “You?”

  “I slept for two thousand years,” Nyanther told him. “I had to catch up.”

  “You said your family has interests in that stuff,” Nick said. “Not you?” His gaze flickered over the man’s expensive suit.

  “I’m a reluctant participant,” Jake said, with a grin that was more reminiscent of the man in the forest they had first met. “My uncle wants me ready to take over the reins in the next ten years.”

  “While you’d rather be chasing after supernaturals?” Nick asked dryly.

  “I didn’t know they were…supernatural.” The word emerged oddly, as if he was having trouble saying it.

  Nyanther snorted. “Did you get good look at the beastie?” he asked. “There’s nothing natural about it.”

  Jake shook his head. “There’s some very fucking weird things down in the depths of the ocean. Things that would scare the pants off most people. Blind fish that can see. Others than change shape and appearance. Still others that make their own electricity. Monster squid…everyone has heard about them, but if they met one they’d have a coronary on the spot. Only you don’t have to get wet to see strange shit Mother Nature serves up. Look at the rhinoceros. I mean, really look at one next time you see them on TV. They’re weird and they’re natural.”

  He had a point.

  Jake shrugged. “I figured these…gargoyles—” and he had even more trouble with that noun. “I figured the gargoyles were just more freaky weird stuff. They’re sort of like rhinoceroses, only with wings and teeth and claws. I thought they were cross-breeding experiments or genetic modification gone mad. I never thought for a moment they might be….”

  “Magic is the word you’re looking for,” Riley said and bit into her toast with relish.

  Jake nodded. “Yeah. Magic,” he said firmly. “It’s actually a relief to know they are supernatural.”

  “Why?” Nick asked sharply, beating Nyanther to it by a mere fraction of a second.

  Jake shook his head. “I want a few answers of my own. How many gargoyles are there? I’ve come across four separate individuals. The one tonight is the big one that can’t fly straight. Then there’s the little twerp with the mean eyes and the other really big one.”

  “Bero,” Riley said. “Bero is the one that can’t fly straight. Valdeg is the sport and the really big one has to be Andurag because I killed Lirgon myself, two years ago.”

  Jake stared at her. “Names…” he breathed. “How long have you been hunting them?”

  Riley licked her fingers of honey. “I’ve been hunting for two years. Nick has been hunting the Stonebrood clan for nearly five hundred years. This is the third time the clan has come to life. This time, we intend to make it the last time.”

  Jake looked from her to Nick and back. When the waitress put coffee in front of him, he smiled up at her and thanked her, in a perfectly normal and charming way. Then he dropped the false front – Nyanther could see him disengage from human considerations and study Nick again.

  Interesting, Nyanther decided. There was more to Jake Summerfield than a man with too much money and time on his hands.

  “You’re a vampire, too,” Jake said to Nick, keeping his voice down.

  Nick raised his brow and said nothing.

  Jake looked at Riley. “You said the gargoyles have risen three times.”

  She shook her head. “The first time, they were hatched out of the shell the same as normal gargoyles, if you can call anything about gargoyles normal. The second time and this time, they were resurrected by a demon called Azazel. Damian, who is Nick’s and my partner, killed Azazel. As in stone dead, nothing but black smoke and evil vapors, the same night I killed Lirgon.” She was using the same shock technique as Nick, sparing Jake nothing. “That’s why we have a chance to rid the earth of gargoyles for once and all.”

  Jake sipped his coffee and grimaced at the taste and pushed it aside. “The second time. The last time they rose. That was in the late seventies and early eighties, right?”

  Nyanther chuckled as Nick and Riley both stared at Jake, startled. “You’ve got skin in the game already, don’t you?” he said to Jake. “Who of yours did they kill, back then?”

  Jake breathed in and let it out. “My parents,” he said, his voice very low. “Pennsylvania, 1977. I was six. I’ve never accepted the hibernating bear thing the FBI came up with.”

  “So you went looking for answers,” Nyanther finished.

  “And found them. Some of them,” Nick added. “You do realize you’ve stumbled over the tip of a very large iceberg, don’t you?”

  “I’m starting to figure that out,” Jake said candid
ly. He shrugged again. “I came at it with science and investigative methods and it wasn’t until a couple of years ago I got close to figuring it out. Now I know why. There was nothing to find, for nearly thirty years.”

  “You’re an amateur in a world you don’t understand,” Nick shot back.

  Jake sat back with a grin. “I’ve killed two of the bastards. How many have you found?”

  Riley nudged Nick. “He’s got you there. Accept it, Nicholas. He’s another Carson.”

  Nick growled softly. It was an inhuman sound. Riley just laughed harder.

  “Who is Carson?” Jake asked.

  “My father,” Riley said. “He was just another human like you. He helped hunt the clan down, thirty years ago. Nick won’t say it, but Damian says Carson was a good hunter. One of the best, despite not being born to it.”

  “What happened to him?” Jake asked.

  “Lirgon and Valdeg blackmailed a friend of Carson’s into betraying him and making Carson come to them. Then they killed him.”

  * * * * *

  Even the direct commercial flights to New York took three hours to get there, which forced Jake to leave them at the diner to catch his flight, shortly after seven. He also left his knife with them, to bring back to New York in Nick’s Lexus. It would be simpler than risking having his checked luggage searched, even though it folded up to look like a computer power bar.

  Jake’s request that they bring back his gear make Nick relax and Nyanther knew why. Nick didn’t want to let Jake Summerfield out of his sight. He knew just enough to be dangerous and not enough to be useful. Yet.

  There was no question they would not include him in future hunts. Besides, he had some cool shit.

  Nyanther looked through the big duffel bag as they drove back to New York. The netting was ingenious—it was actually sticky in the middle, which would help ensure it fully tangled with whatever it was thrown at. In all the years Nyanther had been hunting the gargoyles, no one had thought to use the gladiators’ trident and net in this way, even though they had been standard Roman arena weapons for bringing down an opponent that was bigger or heavier.