Out of the Night

by Robin T. Popp

  The figure in the alley was moving toward her now, and she didn’t recognize his gait. The thought that this might be Burton or one of his vampire recruits held her frozen in place. Was this how she would die? Her lifeblood drained out by a vampire?

  No, she wouldn’t die, a horrified voice in her head whispered. She’d come back as a deranged, bloodsucking fiend. It was this thought that finally broke through her paralysis.

  Lanie knew that if she turned and ran, he would know she had discovered the trap and he would attack with such speed that she’d have no chance at all. Her only hope lay in letting him think she was deceived and then catching him off guard.

  She moved forward at a snail’s pace and pulled her purse to the front so she could slip her hand into it without taking her eyes off the vampire. Blindly, she groped around for anything she might use as a weapon. Her choices were depressingly limited.

  Before she was ready, the man was close enough to see, and as she’d suspected, it wasn’t her dad. Neither was it Burton, for which she was marginally grateful.

  “Where’s my father?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t know exactly.” He made no effort to hide his fangs when he smiled. “I suppose he’s still collecting blood, like he does every night for us.”

  “You sent that message to me?” She knew she had to keep him talking, to distract him as she subtly moved her hand to the other corner of her purse, touching and rejecting items.

  “Yes. Burton wants you.”

  She stilled as the pronouncement soaked in. “Why?”

  “I didn’t ask.”

  “And if I refuse to go with you?”

  He laughed, and it was an ugly sound. “Not an option.”

  It was the answer she’d expected, and as he reached for her, she made a final, desperate grab at the contents of her purse. Her hand closed around a small cylinder and she pulled it out, her finger already on the nozzle.

  Her aim was true as she fired a stream of pepper spray directly into his face. Caught off guard, he wasn’t able to shield his eyes in time and received a large dose. Lanie immediately darted backward as he stumbled toward her, one hand over his eyes while the other reached out for her. His violent stream of obscenities filled the quiet night.

  Lanie turned and ran. She listened for sounds of pursuit as she reached the street and looked around desperately for a cab. There were none, so she picked a direction at random and ran. She knew she didn’t have much time before he came after her.

  Racing along the next block, she passed another alley. Glancing in, she came to an abrupt halt. An old trash Dumpster sat midway down. She looked to make sure the vampire wasn’t already in sight, watching her, and then ducked down the alley. She checked the doors of the buildings on each side of her, pushing open the ones that she could, hoping he would think she’d gone in one of them.

  When she reached the Dumpster, she pressed her hands against the lid and lifted. A whiff of air escaped, and she almost choked on the foul stench. Bracing the lid up with one hand, she lifted the corner of her shirt and dragged it roughly over the corner of the Dumpster so the cloth caught and tore. When she lowered the lid, a trace piece of her torn shirt was barely visible, but it was enough. A former SEAL with a vampire’s night vision should have no trouble spotting it.

  She glanced to the front of the alley and still saw no sign of him, so she raced for the nearest unlocked door and ducked inside.

  Moving as silently as she could, she crept through the building, groping her way through dark hallways, grateful for what little light spilled in through the windows from the street lamps outside. She kept her mind firmly focused on finding the front door, though she was all too aware of the soft scratching and scurrying noises around her.

  After what seemed forever, she found it. Looking out the side window, she leaned first to one side and then the other, trying to see as much of the street outside as she could. There was no sign of the vampire.

  Then she heard a noise from the alley. It was the sound of the Dumpster lid being thrown back. Knowing this was her best opportunity, she opened the door as silently as she could and took off running down the street. As soon as she reached the next corner, she turned and kept going.

  The name of the street seemed familiar. Reaching the next corner, she turned again, remembering that there was a residential area only a few blocks away. She was breathing hard by the time she got there. Trying the door of the first apartment building she reached, she found it locked. Wondering what to do, she noticed the call box mounted beside the front door. She pushed all the buttons, hoping that someone inside would ring her in.

  “Can I help you?”

  She gave a startled cry and whirled around to see a young man standing behind her. He wasn’t the vampire, but she shuddered to realize that she’d been so preoccupied pushing the buttons, she hadn’t heard him come up behind her.

  She swallowed, forcing her heart back into her chest, and gestured helplessly to the door. “I don’t suppose you can let me in? I can’t find my key.”

  “I don’t remember seeing you around,” the man said, not rudely or accusingly. “Do you live here?”

  “I’m new.” She practically held her breath and kept her expression innocent. Finally, he smiled and pulled out his key.

  As soon as the door opened, Lanie hurried inside, glancing down the street as she did. So far, so good.

  “Thanks again.” She waved to the man as she hurried up the staircase, trying to act like she knew exactly where she was going. He started up the stairs behind her, and she wondered if he was following her. She decided to go up to the third floor and was grateful when he stopped on the second.

  She walked down the hallway and let herself relax a little. She was fairly certain that she had lost the vampire. Taking out her phone to call Mac, she hesitated as his words from earlier played over in her head. Asking Mac for help was the last thing she wanted to do. She considered calling Uncle Charles or a cab, but didn’t want to put someone else’s life in jeopardy with the vampire lurking just outside. When it was closer to dawn it would be safe to leave, and that’s when she’d call someone to come get her. It wasn’t a great plan, but it was a plan.

  Putting away the phone, she walked back to the stairwell. If the vampire came after her, one or two good kicks against the old wood banister and it would break into stakelike pieces. Satisfied that she wasn’t completely without a weapon, she sat on the stairs, leaned against the wall, and pulled the ever-present novel from her purse. Flipping to the last page she’d read, she settled in for the long wait.

  “Come on in, boys,” the admiral invited Mac and Dirk, leading them through the large open foyer, past the great room, and down the hall to a set of large double doors. He opened them, and Mac found himself inside the admiral’s study.

  The hardwood floor was polished to a high gleam, and a large Oriental rug covered the center of the room. The walls running the length of the study were floor-to-ceiling bookcases, and opposite the door, a huge mahogany desk stood facing them. Two burgundy leather chairs with a small table between them faced the desk, and on the wall behind it, on each side, were two large windows looking out on well-lit, manicured lawns and a swimming pool.

  Displayed on the wall behind the desk, between the windows, was the largest collection of knives, daggers, and swords that Mac had ever seen. Taking a look around the room, Mac saw that here and there were glass display cases containing additional swords. In the center of one of the bookcases was another glass case holding all the admiral’s military medals.

  “Is all this authentic?” Dirk asked from where he stood examining what looked to Mac to be a samurai sword.

  “Yes, it’s all authentic.”

  “This must have cost you a fortune,” Mac said quietly, wondering where the older man got his money.

  “Most of these I inherited,” the admiral replied. “Although I have managed to add a few pieces to the collection over the years.” He walked to the
far side of the room where a waist-high display cabinet stood and looked down through the glass. “This is my favorite.”

  Mac walked over and looked inside the case where he saw a most unusual sword. The pommel appeared to be silver-plated, and engraved on the side was a man’s head with eyes of embedded rubies and fangs protruding from an open mouth. It looked suspiciously like a vampire. The hilt of the sword curved outward and back, acting as a hand guard, and the blade, forty-some-odd inches by Mac’s estimate, gleamed under the display lamp.

  “This, gentlemen, is a sword that has been in my family for many generations.” The admiral pulled a key chain from his pocket, selected a key, and opened the locked case. He lifted the sword out lovingly, but when he went to offer it to Mac for a better look, the blade slipped and he winced, drawing back his hand and dropping the blade.

  With lightning-fast speed, Mac grabbed it, not letting it hit the ground, then turned to the admiral, who cradled his injured hand as blood pooled in his palm from the cut in the padding beneath his thumb.

  “Damn,” he muttered. “I must be getting clumsy in my old age.”

  Mac stared at the blood, mesmerized by it. When he finally looked up, he found the admiral watching him closely and suddenly felt as if he were being tested. Irritated, he looked over at Dirk and found his friend also staring at the blood. As if feeling his gaze, Dirk looked up and their eyes met.

  “What’s going on, Admiral?” Mac demanded. “You’re not that old or clumsy, but you’re a little transparent. That was no accident, so what’s up?” Suspicion furrowed his brow. “Lanie told you we were vampires, is that it? And you wanted to see how we’d react to the sight of blood?”

  Rather than look embarrassed, Admiral Winslow smiled. “Something like that.”

  “Maybe we should get a rag or something,” Dirk suggested, “before you bleed all over the rug here.”

  The admiral didn’t move but studied each man in turn with the same keen, assessing look Mac had seen many times before during his SEAL years. It was a look he knew well—and respected.

  “For generations, my family has guarded a secret so sacred that we never speak of it aloud. It has been passed down from father to son in a secret ritual. Now, when I die, since I never married or had children, it is at risk of being lost forever—unless I choose a successor.” He glanced at each of them and smiled. “I had thought it would be impossible to find someone worthy of this responsibility, but now, it seems, I’ve found two such individuals.”

  “Admiral, maybe you’d better sit down. I think you might have lost more blood than you realize,” Mac suggested.

  “Do you trust me?”

  The question took Mac by surprise and looking into the admiral’s eyes, he knew the older man didn’t want an automatic response. He wanted honesty, and so Mac took a moment to think about it. Across from him, he knew Dirk was asking himself the same question. Did they trust him?

  Finally, he nodded. “Yes.”

  “With your life?” the admiral pressed, sounding very serious.

  “With my life,” Mac responded, equally serious.

  The older man looked at Dirk for his response, and there was no hesitation. “With my life,” Dirk replied.

  “Then trust me now,” the admiral replied. “Kneel before me.”

  Mac exchanged another look with Dirk, but they both did as instructed. The admiral stood before them, his eyes shining bright with an emotion Mac couldn’t identify.

  “I give this gift freely that you may understand,” he intoned, raising his cut hand above them. “Open your mouths.” As Mac watched in stunned disbelief, the admiral tilted his hand and allowed blood to run into his mouth. Unsure what to do, Mac held it there, refusing to swallow. The admiral turned to Dirk and did the same thing.

  “What is freely given must be freely accepted. You have only faith and trust to guide your decision. To accept, all you have to do is swallow my blood.” Up to this point, Mac thought the admiral sounded like he was reciting passages from a ritual. Now his tone changed. “There’s no shame in spitting out the blood. I only ask that you spit it out in the trash can by the desk, rather than on my rug. Blood is rather difficult to get out.”

  It was the moment of truth, Mac realized. Everything in him longed to spit out the blood, reject the monster within, yet he hadn’t lied to the admiral. His was not a blind trust; it was one carefully weighed and measured. Would he walk into the pits of hell for this man? An image of Lanie appeared before him, and he was shocked to realize when it came to people for whom he’d lay down his life, she now was first in his thoughts.

  Distracted by the discovery, a trickle of blood slipped down his throat. Rather than find the taste repulsive, he found it quite palatable.

  He felt a growing warmth in his hand and looked down at the sword he still clutched. The heat seemed to be coming from the pommel. He gripped it tightly and vowed to himself that if his trust was misplaced, then his last act would be one of vengeance.

  He swallowed the blood.

  Chapter 16

  Immediately Mac felt the blood coursing through his body and it infused him with a vibrant energy. His senses grew sharper, and the lethargy that had weighed him down for the last several nights disappeared. The sword in his hand pulsed, and he looked down to see the ruby eyes of the face glowing brightly.

  He heard Dirk’s quick intake of breath and turned to see a bemused expression that, he thought, mirrored his own. When he glanced up, Mac saw the admiral smiling broadly. He gestured to the sword and then to Dirk, so Mac passed the weapon to his friend, who held it reverently. If possible, the rubies shone more brightly.

  “I imagine you both have several questions,” the admiral finally said. “Let me wash away this blood, and then we’ll talk.”

  Mac and Dirk rose to their feet as he walked out of the study, and for several seconds they simply stood there. Mac thought he might be in a state of shock, because something significant had occurred here, but he had no clue what it was.

  “This can’t be good,” Dirk muttered. “But what a rush.”

  Mac couldn’t have agreed more. Trying to give himself time to collect his thoughts, he walked around the study, examining the other weapons. When the admiral finally joined them again, both men turned to him expectantly. He reached for the sword, taking it from Dirk’s hand. The rubies in the pommel faded to a dull red.

  “She’s a beauty, isn’t she?” He stroked the gleaming blade with a loving touch, then turned and smiled at each of them. “How do you feel?”

  “Depressingly good,” Mac replied truthfully. “Before now, I hadn’t thought of myself as a vampire.”

  The admiral laughed. “You’re not a vampire—either of you.”

  “But we drank your blood,” Dirk replied.

  “Only because I asked you to—freely given and freely accepted. A true vampire doesn’t ask. He—or she—takes by force because they need the blood to survive. You do not.”

  Mac and Dirk exchanged looks. “Why do I get the feeling that you know more about all this vampire stuff than you’re letting on?” Mac asked.

  “You’re right. I’ve not been completely forthcoming, but please understand, until this afternoon, I didn’t realize the full situation or the extent of your involvement.”

  “Lanie.”

  The admiral nodded. “But you mustn’t be upset with her, Mac. She was worried about you both, and it was right for her to come to me. Vampires and chupacabras have been around for hundreds, maybe thousands, of years. Usually, we’re able to keep them under control, but every now and then, a situation arises that must be dealt with.”

  “Who’s we?” Mac asked.

  “My family. We are responsible for finding the changelings—and for the sword.” He raised the weapon higher, drawing their attention to it. “The inscription here on the blade is written in an ancient language that has been all but lost over the ages. Loosely translated, it reads: When the sword finds the slayer, death on win
ged horse shall fly. Let justice prevail.” He opened the hand around the hilt so they could see the emblem on the side. “You saw the rubies glow when you held the sword? It hasn’t done that in almost a hundred years. That was the last time the sword was held by a true slayer.”

  “Slayer of what?” Mac was pretty sure he didn’t want to hear the answer.

  “Vampires.”

  He rolled his eyes. “Please. You’re telling me that you’re a vampire slayer.”

  “No. I’m merely the Keeper of the Sword. Only changelings can be slayers.”

  “Do you know how crazy this sounds?” Dirk asked.

  “I would imagine not as crazy as it would have before you knew vampires existed.”

  Mac had to give the admiral credit for that one. “I’m almost afraid to ask, but who are these changelings you keep talking about?”

  The admiral smiled and gave them each a pointed look.

  Dirk shook his head. “Oh, no. You can’t be serious. What is a changeling, anyway?”

  “Half vampire and half human.”

  Mac felt a chill run down his spine. “I thought you said we weren’t vampires.”

  “You’re not. You’re half vampire. The chupacabra, when it attacked you, injected you with enough venom to convert you. You’ve noticed the changes in yourselves.”

  “So what are you suggesting? That we go around looking for Burton and other vampires, with swords strapped around our waists?” Dirk asked, incredulous. “No offense, but are you crazy?”

  The admiral merely cocked an eyebrow, as much as saying yes. Dirk swore.

  None of it made sense to Mac, but there was one part of what had just happened that bothered him the most. “If we’re not really vampires, why did you ask us to drink blood?”

  “Blood that is freely given and freely received has the power to energize and heal the changeling. The key is life. Blood is essential to life. Unlike the vampire, who was human and then died before turning, a changeling doesn’t die. Therefore, they are creatures of life, not of death. Because blood is a gift of life, the changeling who drinks it is imbued with the life force.”