by P W Hillard
Lucille grunted as she pulled herself up onto the low garage roof before her room at the safe house. She crawled across the bitumen roof, eager not to make any noise and get caught. Her plan so far had worked reasonably well, except for the surprise presence of a cluster of vampires. The woman who had bombed her bar had gotten away too, but in Lucille's experience learning to be happy with good enough was worthwhile. She knocked gently on her window, catching the attention of the reflection within. It placed down the book it had been pretending to read and walked over, pushing the window open. Lucille squeezed through, stepping gently onto the carpet. She nodded to her clone, who closed the window behind her. Lucille walked across the room to a large wardrobe. It was a horrid thing, fake mahogany with an odd orange tinge. On one of the doors was a full-length mirror. Nothing reflected back at Lucille, the glass oddly empty.
"Right, good job, but back you go," she whispered to the reflection. It smiled gently and then began to fade, become gradually clearer until it was gone. Lucille looked back at the mirror, her reflection mercifully returned. She twisted and twirled, getting a good look at herself. "All in one piece it seems." She pursed her lips and nodded. "Good job," she said to herself.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Mark held a pile of books in his hands, grinning eagerly. He dropped them into the back of the police van, atop a small wooden chest. The rest of the van had been filled with everything they could find in the warehouse, including several pieces of battered furniture.
"You're all set then," said Jess. "Should take you a few weeks to go through all these books. I reckon we'll find a bunch when we identify the body and the one, we arrested. They must have a bunch at home."
Mark nodded, checking the spines on the books. "Maybe, these don't seem anything too esoteric. I don't recognise the titles, but they seem relatively new. Still, that's never stopped me. Any idea on their identities yet?"
"Not yet," said Jess shaking her head. "No I.D on them at all. We'll run the prints, but who knows. I would assume they would have taken measures to cover their tracks. At least, assuming a level of competency."
"I am a little confused about that. They've gone unnoticed for so long, but when we do find them, they're all holed up in one place. That's not very clever, is it? Keeping everyone together like that." Mark slammed the van door shut behind him. The pair began to walk across the forecourt, past the crumbled section of wall. The burnt corpse of the vampire had been removed, leaving only crushed brick and metal shards.
"I think," Jess began, "that they tried something with those vampires, and it went wrong. They mentioned this was temporary, I think it's some kind of safe house or emergency rally point. Speaking of vampires, I have never seen one do that. Hulk out like that. Didn't think that was something they could do."
"Supposedly, I've read about it once or twice. It's like a berserker rage. Very rare from what I gather. One book I read theorised that it's a regression to an older form of vampire. Something older and more primal."
"So, it's what? A vampire caveman?" asked Jess.
Mark nodded, his smile wide and excited. "At least something close to it, a genetic throwback so to speak. We're very lucky to have seen something so rare."
"Funny, I don't feel lucky."
Sandra scuffed her shoe on the floor, a sprinkle of dust bursting upwards into the air. They had arrived to find Mark and Jess scrabbling about on the ground, hands outstretched like blinded cartoon characters. The remaining legionnaire was rocking back and forth holding his eyes. The warehouse was empty now, its contents loaded to be explored for evidence, its sole living occupant on his way to a cell in New Scotland Yard. Gemma was crouched nearby, examining a large bloodstain.
"I wouldn't touch that Gem. That's how vampirism is transferred you know, in the blood," Sandra said, her hands resting in her pockets.
"You would need a lot more than that," said Mark leaning under the remains of the shattered shutter, Jess following behind him. "It takes a few pints at least. Touching that would be fine."
"Still, better safe than sorry," said Gemma, standing up straight. "All loaded away?"
"Yep, all stashed up. You pair ready?" Jess asked. They had confiscated an ancient Nokia from the man who had identified himself as Maximus. Unlocked, they had been able to see years' worth of messages from the legion’s supposed oracle. Page after page of targets and their locations. It was enough to keep the department busy for months, but one message was particularly concerning. The most recent message confirmed what Maximus has claimed. The last remaining legionnaire had travelled a few hours east to hunt a selkie.
"Yeah, we'll leave right away. Bit of a needle in a haystack type situation, though right? We don't know what this guy looks like, or even if he's going to be there," Sandra said, removing her hands from her pockets and zipping up her jacket.
"I've got some ideas around that," said Gemma. "I don't think we'll find him. I think we track down the selkie. Local police confirm no unusual deaths recently, so I don't think they've succeeded quite yet. We can find the super, that's our bread and butter."
Sandra nodded in agreement. "That's a fair point Gem. Well, we better get a move on then."
"Look on the bright side Sandy," said Mark, "you’re heading back to your natural environment. Sandy Beecham returns to whence she came."
Vlad cursed, rubbing the burn marks on his arms. The thick black crust from his earlier burns had fallen away, but his foray into the sun had left red welts following the outline of the balaclava he had worn. Sunlight had found its way into his heavy raincoat's sleeves leaving a few inches of burning stretching upwards from where his gloves had been. He had run from the chaos at that warehouse, looking desperately for somewhere to go.
He had found an old house, covered with thick graffiti, the metal plates that covered its windows and doors removed and left laying in the garden by its new occupants, a handful of squatters. They had proven easy prey despite Vlad's weakened state. Blood was splashed across the grotty interior walls, gore dripped from Vlad's lips. He could feel his strength returning, the blood allowing his body to heal its burns. He was alone now; those humans had ruined everything. The cluster of vampires he had sired were all dead, and no doubt the surviving human would inform the police of his criminal enterprising. His entire fledgling empire brought down by a gaggle of over-eager middle-aged humans with a penchant for knives. All his work, all his effort, and all he had to show for it were two large syringes tucked into his coat.
Vlad pulled them from his pockets. The thick mix of vampire and human blood sloshing inside them as Vlad turned them over in his hands. Vlad was sat in a large closest, the curtains in the house were drawn, but even that small amount of sunlight had been unbearable after his recent excursion. Tucked into that closet, hiding from the searing rays of the sun, Vlad looked at the syringes and came to an unhappy realisation.
The day was oddly beautiful. The bright light from the sun, the pleasant heat offset by a seaside breeze. The clear crystal blue sky. It felt wrong to Sandra, the weather holding a bizarre indifference to the carnage of that morning. She was leaning on a worn metal rail, its fading blue frame separating the street from the cliff below. To her left was a large set of stone steps leading down onto the beach. For all the jokes at her expense, Sandra had to admit that this did make her happy. The serene calm of the sands and waves. The brilliant white of the jutting spires of stone.
"It's pretty here, right?" asked Gemma, taking a position next to Sandra, leaning her elbows onto the fence. A newspaper dangled from her hands.
"Yeah. Selkies are sea-based supers, right? If you were going to pick a place to live this would be a good one. Picturesque, close to London, small enough to hide out easily."
"This beach is pretty secluded too, I reckon you could get in and out of the water pretty easily. Here, I picked up a local paper so we can start looking for anything out of place," said Gemma, handing the paper over to Sandra. It was a free local paper, more advertisi
ng than actual news.
"Don't think we'll find anything in here," Sandra said, opening the paper and flicking through its pages. "I imagine our suspect would have checked this first. It's the logical thing to do. That and check social media, ask about. Think we need to dig a little deeper maybe."
"Maybe, still nothing lost if it's a dead end. Want an ice cream cone?" asked Gemma, standing upright.
"Actually…I think I found them."
"Really? That seems bloody unlikely."
"No look at this," said Sandra. "This interview with a local restaurant, check it out." She passed the paper back, folding it over as she did. "They've gone from struggling to winning awards, says they're up for a big seafood prize. Seafood Gem. The owner attributes their success to their new chef who he says, and I quote, was a gift from nowhere. If you were someone who could travel the seas, what kind of job would you do?"
"It feels like a long shot. It's a bit of a wobbly premise," answered Gemma.
"Got any other leads?"
Vlad strolled the corridors. The walls a depressing beige. Before him, an older woman in bright purple scrubs was excitedly reeling off a practised speech that Vlad was doing his best to ignore. He hated this place, what it represented. It was a pit, designed to dull the senses and keep people deemed too old to be useful senile. It was unsurprising that they had leapt at his product, the mixture giving them new youthful energy and vitality. It had been a while since the last delivery, and without their miracle cure, the elderly residents of The Hill Residential Home had slipped into a dull lethargy more pronounced even than their usual stupor. Vlad hated the sight of them, without the gift of vampirism he was certain he would have ended up in a place like this. If the cancer hadn't taken him first.
"Oh, I do hope you'll like it here Vincent," said the woman. "It's not often we get someone come here looking for a space themselves. Its normally…" her voice dropped to a whisper "family bringing them here if you catch my drift."
"Oh of course," replied Vlad. "I just figured well, I was sat all alone at home, at least here I'm around people my own age, much more social. And I have the money to pay for it, and no kids to leave it too. Why not make the most of it at my age. Treat myself to an extended hotel stay of a sort."
"Hah, well a hotel would maybe be cheaper dear, but I think I get your point. It seems a bit quiet at the moment because most of the residents are asleep. You paid us a visit very late in the evening. If you hadn't called ahead, I doubt there would have been anyone here to see you." The woman gripped a handle, pushing the door open to reveal the room beyond. "Here you go, the only room without a window. We were using it as a storage area truth be told, most people demand a view."
"Ah well, I have a medical condition see, UV sensitivity, I burn extremely easily. It's why I'm here so late. It's very severe. An extremely rare condition, but even the tiniest amount of sun can cause me sunburns," said Vlad, shooting the woman a smile.
"Oh, that sounds horrible," she replied, placing her hand over her mouth. "How do you cope?"
"You learn to be a night owl. It's not too bad really. Everything is a lot quieter. Can be amazed what you can get done with enough free time and no-one to distract you," Vlad said, stepping past her into the room. "Well, thank you, I think I'll be fine from here. Goodnight."
Commodus was extremely pleased with himself. Several embarrassing trips to the internet café had resulted in a solid lead. A teen had claimed to have seen a woman dumping what looked like an animal skin into the boot of her car. Having tracked down that teen through social media, he had been able to get a description of the woman. Taking that description around town had narrowed it down to a handful of women, though one had stood out. A young woman how had arrived only very recently. No family, no known friends. She had taken up a job at a local seafood restaurant, and it was there Commodus had decided to stake himself out.
First, he had tried to get a seat in the restaurant itself. That had proved impossible, the woman on the phone telling him they were booked up for months. Then he had tried to get a table as a walk-in, only to find a queue out that door that had not moved for the several hours Commodus had been there. He had instead decided to simply take a seat in the garden of a nearby pub. A constant stream of cola and nibbles keeping the landlord happy enough to let him sit there.
Gemma and Sandra had decided on a similar tactic, except they had brought an unmarked car with them, a slightly aged Ford Escort. They too were waiting for the restaurant to close, though they had each acquired a large bag of chips rather than a selection of pub snacks.
"So, think this is really who we're after?" asked Gemma, twisting the top off a pie, revealing the warm steaming minced beef within. "Could be a waste of time?" She dipped a chip into the pie, digging out a large pile of meat and gravy with it.
"Better than doing nothing. I checked with the office, there are no other supers living in the area we know off. Well, there was one, a werewolf lad but he got killed in a stabbing a few months back. Got written off as ordinary knife crime, but with what we know now, boss says she's adding it to the pile."
"Must be a pretty big pile by now." Gemma gobbled another chip greedily.
Sandra nodded, opening her own paper-wrapped parcel of fried potatoes. The strong smell of vinegar wafted up in the steam. "We're going to have to go back through a whole host of old cases, re-evaluate them from scratch. Will be worth it in the end though. What if there are other cells out there you know? More legionnaires just murdering people when the mood takes them."
"That's a scary thought."
"It is. I think we need to just focus on the task ahead of us, and go from there," asserted Sandra. "We can at least try and stop this one."
Agatha pushed open the door, black bags slung over her shoulder. The door closed itself behind her, pulled by a spring-loaded arm. She grunted as she carried the heavy bags over to a large American style metal dumpster. Placing the bags on the ground, she lifted the lid and began to throw them in. She stopped, as she heard a noise, a glass bottle skidding across the small alleyway that ran behind the restaurant.
"Hello?" asked Agatha. "Hello?" There was another noise, this time a rustling, as a small cat, its fur ragged and scruffy burst out from a half rotten box. It looked at her, bag full of discarded seafood in hand, and meowed. "It was just you was it, little buddy? Hungry, are you? Today's your lucky day pal, this would be going in the rubbish otherwise. All the fish you can eat." Agatha smiled and opened one of the bags. She began rummaging inside. "Ah here we go, this should sort you right- "
She stopped, cut short by the vision of the figure before her. It was a man, his form cast in shadow, his face hidden by a hood. The knife he carried was plain to see though, glinting in the moonlight. Agatha froze, unsure what do to. She tried to get up and run, but her muscles felt frozen, locked tight from fear. The man stepped forward and raised the blade high. Agatha closed her eyes tight, waiting for the strike to come. There was a strange grunting noise, and she felt a kindly hand on her shoulder.
"You ok hun?" said Sandra, helping Agatha to her feet. Gemma had Commodus pinned to the ground and was locking handcuffs around his wrists. "Don't worry, this monster won't hurt you. We'll make sure of that."
Chapter Twenty-Three
The evidence room was a mess. A torrent of items, all bagged in clear plastic, had poured from the van into the room with very little mind for any kind of order. Mark was waist-deep in the sea of plastic, trying to wade his way to anything that might be useful. It was a losing battle. Having bagged everything they could, they seemed to have collected mainly junk. He lifted a heavy bag containing a half-broken table lamp. Mark turned his head as there was a knock at the door.
"Anything useful Curren?" Asked Florence. She was standing in the doorway, arms crossed, glaring at the mess in her evidence room.
"Nothing yet Ma'am. I'll be honest we might have been…overzealous in what we collected. Most of this is useless I would hazard to guess." Mark place
d the lamp back into the pile, holding the bag by its corner as though it were radioactive.
Florence chuckled, something Mark had never seen her do. "Well, better to be thorough than to miss something. I wonder if we had been as eager on previous cases would we have caught this lot earlier? We'll never know, I guess. I do have good news in that regard at least. Beecham and Clarke caught the straggler last night. They put him in a local station overnight and are bringing him into Scotland Yard now. That accounts for all but one."
Mark nodded. After the chaos at the warehouse, he and Jess had taken a quick trip to the hospital to arrest the one the legionnaires had called Agrippina. The news that Sandra and Gemma had wrapped things up was good to hear. "The selkie?"
"She's fine. They've arranged for her to come in later so we can give her the talk. Not registered on our database," said Florence. The department kept a list of every known super. A necessary but ill liked practice, the list existed specifically to help prevent attacks from monster hunters. Every new super registered also got what the department referred to as “the talk”. In actuality, it was a long and notoriously boring PowerPoint presentation on evading detection amongst humans. As the departments only super member, the dubious honour of giving the presentation normally fell to Shauna. Generally, that made the how to suck eggs nature of the slides a little more palatable.
"That's good to hear. A selkie huh? Don't think we've come across one of those before. The last few days has been one of firsts. First selkie, first vampire transformation, the first time an angel has ever so directly gotten involved in our work. That was Lucille, right? It had to be?" Mark asked, inspecting what seemed to be a clear plastic container with a half-eaten sandwich within.
"Dale confirms her alibi. She was at the safe house the whole time."
"Yeah," agreed Mark, "but it's Lucille. Trickery is her bread and butter. I wouldn't put it past her to be in two places at once. Don't get me wrong, I'm grateful. That angel probably saved us. Vampires I could cope with. Vampires, who are also the Hulk? Probably not."