by Joel Jenkins
“Back you Satan spawned!” the brunette ordered, moving in closer.
Reluctantly the vampire shuffled back away from the offending cross.
“Jazzy, hurry!”
“Yes, mother.”
The third undead by now had crumbled, burning away to ash before Ravenwood’s startled eyes. So fast had his fiery consummation been that the white-hot flames hadn’t lasted enough burn anything else in the confined space. Something the occult detective was grateful for.
He reached into his jacket and pulled his Luger from its under-the-arm holster and hurried to join the others in front of the door.
When the woman saw him over the shoulder of the vampire she was herding away from her and her daughter, she shook her head negatively. “Bullets cannot stop these….things.”
Just then the kitchen door opened and the bloodied second vampire came rushing out.
Ravenwood twisted around and shot him in the head.
The monster stopped as it he had stuck a cement wall. His pink eyes rolled in their sockets and then he fell forward against the counter and was still.
The mysterious woman turned to Ravenwood who smiled, still holding tightly to his German made pistol. “I coat the bullets with Holy Water.”
Then he shot the last vampire in the back of the head ending his threat forever.
“Who are you?” she asked puzzlement on her beautiful face. Her daughter remained hidden behind her.
“That’s not important right now. Getting the two of you out here and to a safe place is. Will you trust me to do that?”
There was a moment’s hesitation, then realizing she was still holding up her cross, she lowered her arm and said, “What other choice do we have? Lead on.”
Ravenwood waited for her to retrieve her bag and then he opened the door and they stepped out into the night. He held his Luger at ready as he descended the three short steps to the pavement and pointed to the parked black convertible Alfa Romeo Spider Corsa in front of them. Its shiny surface reflected light spots from the nearby streetlamps. It was a small two-seater with the steering wheel on the right.
“But there’s no room…?” the dark beauty said holding her daughter’s arm with one hand and the heavy valise with the other.
Ravenwood dashed to the sleek sports car’s rear and popped open the trunk. “Throw your bag in here. Jazzy will have to sit on your on your lap.”
Just then there was a piercing howl and four dark clad shapes charged out of the alley across the street, their clawed hands reaching out; more vampires coming at them like a pack of ravenous wolves.
“HURRY!” Ravenwood stepped around the front of the Alpha Romeo and shot down two of the vampires in their tracks.
Before he could swing his aim to the third, the undead killer jumped over his head and landed on the Spider’s rear cowling. Not seeing the older woman behind the upraised trunk, the monster sprang down onto Jazzy who barely had time to scream, “MOTHER!”
Transfixed by the sight of the high leaping vampire, Ravenwood had involuntarily taken his eyes off their fourth and last attacker. A second of distraction and suddenly he felt sharp nails digging into his arms as the monster was upon him, its fangs covered with drool, its awful fetid breath in his face. Holding his arms to his side in a superhuman grip, the hungry vampire lifted him off the ground. Its nails had penetrated the cloth of his coat and were digging deep into the flesh of his biceps.
He dropped the cane in his left hand but somehow willed himself to hold onto the Luger in his right, though there was no way he could ever bring it up in his current trapped state.
So be it.
Ravenwood twisted the automatic as best he could, imagining where the barrel was pointing and pulled the trigger.
His foe screamed and released him. It began jumping up and down on one foot, as it tried to hold up the foot he’d shot through with his tainted bullet. Dropping to the pavement, Ravenwood fired again at the creature, but because it was moving around so much his shot missed.
He remembered the two women and forgetting the wounded vampire, dashed around the small speedster in time to see Jazzy’s mother come to her rescue.
The fiend atop the struggling teenager was pushing her hands down to clear an unobstructed path to her throat, its fangs exposed and eager to drink fresh blood. But it never got the chance as the enraged mother raced over and without hesitating kicked it in the side of the head with her pointed boot. The vampire fell over and onto its side. It tried to recover as Jazzy’s mother stepped over her daughter to continue her assault on the unholy thing.
Unable to believe that a mere mortal woman was brave enough to confront it, the vampire sprang to its feet like a jumping jack, arms wide and ready. What it never saw coming was the ten-inch butcher’s blade the woman suddenly withdrew from inside her cloak and the amazingly fast swing that cut off its head.
Dumbfounded by the woman’s courage and lethalness, Ravenwood slammed the trunk lid closed and then went to help Jazzy get back on her feet.
“Your mother is a dangerous woman.”
“You don’t know the half of it,” the girl said taking a deep breath.
“Save it for later.” Ravenwood watched the woman kick the vampire’s head down the sidewalk and approved. “Come on! Get in the car before any more of them show up!”
He put away his Luger, climbed into the car and kicked over the engine, setting his cane down beside him. As the racing engine roared to life, the woman ran around the front of the Spider, pulled open the door and fell back into the passenger seat while motioning her daughter to follow her.
At the same time the one-legged, hoping Vampire had stopped his crazy dance and was started to limp towards them.
The second Jazzy fell back onto her mother’s lap, Ravenwood popped the clutch, pressed down on the gas pedal and the black Spider shot away down the road; the passenger door slamming shut with the forward motion.
Behind them the crippled vampire raised its arms toward the night sky and cried out in rage.
6
“Your mother is a dangerous woman.”
Baron Henri Savigne detested America with its New World opulence and upstart haughty airs as if it, by its very youth as a nation, was somehow better than the old world civilizations from which it had sprung. This condescending air of its people wherever he and his entourage traveled was offensive and continually fed his righteous indignation. Having to endure Americans and their uncivilized mannerism was perhaps the greatest challenge he had faced in well over three hundred years of existence; both as a human and now as one of the nosferatu.
In fact, the only thing of worth in the whole of this decadent metropolis they called New York was its abundance of fresh, wholesome blood; free for the taking.
As a Lord of the Imperial Vampire Court, he had smelled the ripe life-giving plasma coursing through the veins of the mindless human cattle all around him. How he yearned to unleash his bestial nature and feed freely on them as was his right. But the Court had made it quite clear that no such rampant blood shedding would be permitted during this hunt. Their mission was focused on one single objective, find the woman and her special child; capture them and return them to Paris. There they would be delivered to the Royal Court.
Looking about the dingy warehouse he had chosen as their base of operation, the ancient vampire could hear tramp steamers moving up and down the waterways of the Hudson River, their mournful whistles crying out in the night. At his feet, one of the two prostitutes he had fed on minutes earlier began to stir. Apparently he had not completely drained painted hussy as he had her companion. Baron Savigne signaled one of his minions, the burly Berleze, to come forth.
There was twelve of his undead troop, of both genders, scattered about the large, dank and cold warehouse. He commanded twice as many; the others were out scouring the night streets in search of their prey. He rotated them in shifts worried that too many on the loose simultaneously would invariably expose their presence and lead
to disaster. He would not fail his superiors. Success could easily mean a place on the court for him when the time was right.
“Yes, my lord?” Berleze had been a miller from Belgium and somewhat dimwitted before having been turned. It annoyed the vampire leader to have to deal with him, but the brutish being’s immense strength had increased ten-fold upon becoming one of the undead and thus he was a rare asset to the baron. Berleze’s primary task was the protection of his master.
“Get rid of them,” the baron commanded wiping his blood stained lips and chin with a silk handkerchief. “But be sure to take their off heads before you dispose of them.
“Do you understand?”
“Yes, master,” the pale giant smiled grotesquely. “You do not want them to rise again.”
“Indeed. The last thing we need is free agents running around attacking people and thus alerting the authorities to our presence in their midst.”
Berleze reached down and picked up the groaning whore by the back of the neck. He broke it with a snap and then hoisted the body over his right shoulder. Effortlessly he picked up the remaining dead woman and set her on his left side before walking off towards the building’s main double doors.
Another of the vampires, seeing Berleze marching by with his burden, raced over and pulled back one side of the portal only to jump back in surprise as a figure suddenly appeared from the dark outside.
“Gustof!” the would-be doorman mouthed, recognizing one of the six that had been dispatched earlier that evening.
Without acknowledging his fellow bloodsucker, Gustof pushed past him and moving with a very noticeable limp skirted around the big Berleze. By now all the lifeless eyes in the room were on the crippled vampire as he painfully marched up to his master where he came to a halt and bowed his head.
Baron Savigne, on his raised dais made from wooden pallets, looked down upon the one called Gustof. “Where are the others? And why are you limping?”
“We found them!” Gustof blurted, ignoring the questions put to them. “In a cheap diner near the theater district.”
Savigne sat up straighter and leaned forward. “What? Are you sure?”
“Yes, my lord, it was them; the woman and her daughter. Their scent was unmistakable.”
“Then where are they?” The vampire liege spread out his hands. “Why are they not here bound before me? And where are your cohorts. Tell me they have the bitch and her whelp and are now in the process of bringing them here.”
At this Gustof seemed to shudder slightly. His pinkish eyes looked about furtively as all the others in the room had moved closer and were now encircling him, all as eager as their master to hear his words. Only the massive Berleze was absent, having simply continued on with his assignment as he was ordered. Even the sudden appearance of Gustof had not aroused the slightest iota of curiosity in the big vampire’s mind. He only lived to obey his master.
“She escaped us…”
“WHAT!” The baron stood, anger shaping his face.
“….with the help of a stranger.” Gustof clutched his hands together in front of his chest as if in prayer, shrinking in upon himself. “He had weapons…the bullets from his gun somehow manage to …to…”
“To what? Speak up you sniveling cur.”
“They hurt …they could harm us…and did. With his help, they slew the others…all of them. Never to rise again.”
There was a hushed murmur as the gathered vampires whispered amongst themselves at this incredible revelation.
“How is that even possible?’ Baron Savigne stepped off his raised platform and stood before his frightened subject. “This stranger slew our brethren, left you wounded and then escaped with the countess and her child.”
“Yes, my lord. That is what happened.”
The vampire lord felt his anger rising and realized the folly of such a reaction. He could not afford the luxury of an uncontrollable rage.
Walking around the still worrisome Gustof, he motioned to several of the others. “Very, well, Gustof, I will accept your account, as ludicrous as it sounds. It only makes our task all the more difficult.
“We must learn the identity of this interloper and deal with him. But first I wish to examine these bullets with which he decimated six of my fellows.”
At that the four vampires he had chosen stepped forward and took hold of Gustof and pulled him onto his back on the rough cement floor. He tried to fight them off, but it was useless.
“Remove his shoe.” The baron raised his right hand the fingernails began to swell outward until they looked like talons. “Now, hold him steady while I retrieve this so-called…magic bullet.”
6
It only took Ravenwood twenty minutes to drive to his apartment penthouse in the richest part of Manhattan. Going up the private elevator to his top floor suite, he was mildly amused at the young lift operator’s reaction to his two guests. Sammy Edwards had been employed at the hotel for several years and had seen many strange types going up to Ravenwood’s sanctum, but none as exotically beautiful as the dark haired woman or her cap-wearing teenage daughter.
They exited onto the fifth floor and entered a short hallway that led directly to the main entrance to his home. Ravenwood was carrying the woman’s carpetbag in his free hand, his walking cane with the other.
“There are no other tenants?” asked the woman. She had remained stoically silence during the speedy ride from the diner.
“No,” Ravenwood replied, slipping his key into the front door and opening it. “The entire floor is mine.”
“And you live alone,” she guessed walking past him as he swept his arm to invite the ladies into a lighted foyer.
“Hardly,” he said, closing the door and then pressing an intercom button on the wall. “Sterling, we have guest. Meet us in my office.”
There was a crackle from the speaker mesh and then a British voice was heard. “Yes, sir, at once.”
With that, Ravenwood led the two women down a short corridor and into a large, ornately decorated room filled with bookshelves along the left and back walls. A massive wooden desk was set directly opposite the entrance and to their immediate right were fancy French doors covered with linen drapes. They opened onto a balcony with a spectacular view of the downtown. A fancy oriental rug covered the majority of the hardwood floor and to either side of it was a plush-looking sofa. Two leather clad chairs, both a russet brown faced the desk itself.
Ravenwood flicked the light switch and two standing lamps behind the sofas lighted the room. The room had an old-world feel to it and Jazzy was immediately taken with its atmosphere, especially the look of the rare tomes that filled the floor to ceiling bookshelves.
“Oh, mother, look,” she exclaimed, moving along the wall, her finger touching the worn spines. “They are all about philosophy and magic.”
Once again, Jazzy’s mother turned her inquisitive green eyes to their host and repeated her earlier question. “Just exactly who are you and why are you armed as you are?”
“My name is Ravenwood, madam,” he bowed slightly. “And I’m an investigator of the occult; thus my unusual weaponry. This was not my first encounter with the undead.”
“Really.” The woman bit her lower lip reflecting on his answer.
Just then Sterling, the tall, gray-haired butler, appeared behind them wearing a stylish robe over his black pajamas and wearing slippers. “Good evening, sir. Ladies.”
“Ah, Sterling, there you are.” Ravenwood smiled. “Please fix the guest bedroom, our guests will be spending the night.”
“Very well sir. If the ladies wish, I can relieve them of their coats and hats.”
Jazzy and her mother began removing their outer garments, relieved to be doing so while Ravenwood handed Sterling the heavy bag. “And after you’ve done, be so kind as to prepare a small repast for them. I know they have not dined this evening and must both be famished.”
“Oh, no,” the brunette said handing her hooded cloak to the waiting servan
t. Beneath she wore a simple, yellow cotton dress with short sleeves. “We don’t want to put you to any more trouble.”
“No trouble at all, Madam,” the long faced Sterling declared. “It will only take me a few minutes to prepare a platter of cold meats and cheeses.”
“That sounds great,” Jazzy said holding her own coat and hat in her arms. “I’m really hungry, mother.”
“Very well then. But why don’t you accompany Mr. Sterling. He seems to have his hands full.”
“Alright,” the girl beamed, looking up at the stiff-necked Brit. “Hi, I’m Jazzy. Do have any peanut butter?”
Sterling crunched his face for a second before responding, “I do believe there is such an item in the food pantry. Come along, Miss …ah…Jazzy. This way.”
Ravenwood closed the door after them and invited Jazzy’s mother to sit. She chose the nearest sofa as he went around his desk where he removed his jacket and draped it over the back of the swivel chair. He unfastened his shoulder holster with his Luger pistol and set it on the table next to a crystal decanter set.
“Would you join me in a brandy while we wait for Sterling to prepare your room?”
The woman arched her back and stretched her arms up over her head. “A brandy would be wonderful, Mr. Ravenwood. I confess, my nerves are rather frayed by what just happened.”
As Ravenwood reached for the glass bottle, he heard the Nameless One’s voice in his mind.
You brought her here! Into our sanctuary!
What was I supposed to do? Leave her and the child on the streets at the mercy of their foes?
There is an old spirit that surrounds her, my son. You must proceed with great care. This is like no other woman you have ever met.
Accepting his mentor’s silent warning, the occult detective poured the ruby red liqueur into two small glasses. “From the conversation I overheard, you and Jazzy have been running from these creatures. Is that true?”