Brett stopped the van. We’d be here for a while. At least, we thought so.
A wave of people was suddenly pushed back, colliding into each other as an invisible force shoved them back.
“Oh, fucking Rifts!” I swore, hastily opening the door, catching myself on the seatbelt and letting Treth disengage it before sprinting towards the HQ.
Shouting filled my ears as another wave of protesters were shot back. Many left standing were starting to run. My coat didn’t like them and singed quite a few as they brushed past me.
As I feared, standing in the middle of the road, surrounded by the prone, dazed protesters, was a man in a tiger-print gi, his fists held to his side, his legs apart, as he prepared another shockwave.
Once upon a time, Kyong was one of the calmest among us. An immovable rock in a storm. In every fight, he’d be an unfazed, powerful juggernaut.
But, we’d all changed.
Kyong swayed a bit as a protester charged him. I saw the warping around his fist. My hair stood on end as I felt the primal energies gathering.
I dive tackled the protester before Kyong could do something we’d all regret.
The protester, a young guy wearing a UCT branded hoodie, struggled underneath me. I pulled him up by the hood and stared him in the eyes.
“I just saved your life, shithead. Run.”
He looked angry. The type of rage you get from some moron with more ideals than sense. But he gained some rationality as he was suddenly surrounded by black clad Crusaders, pushing back the protesters. I let him run.
I turned towards the Tiger Fist. He swayed again, his face red. The crackle around his fist dissipated. He smelled like a medicine drawer.
“Inside, Kyong!” I yelled, anger at him almost killing a civilian mingling with the sickening feeling that I wished he had.
He looked close to arguing, but I turned the Kat death glare to full throttle. It helped that the crowd had gone still, creating an ominous silence punctuated by the crackling of my coat’s fire.
Henri, our one-eyed sniper, and Brett took Kyong by his arms, pulling him back into the HQ. Crusaders, many who had worked all night, fell in behind us, preventing reprisals from the protesters.
“They don’t understand,” Kyong muttered. “What we do for them. They spit on our comrades. They spit on him!”
I shared a look with Heather. A storm cloud seemed to hang over her head, as she held her naginata like she was about to use it. Fortunately, she followed us inside.
Brett and Henri surrendered Kyong to Cindy, who led him further into the HQ.
“They mustn’t have died for nothing!” Kyong screamed, as I saw a golden glow emanating from Cindy’s fingers, as she purged the alcohol in his system. They disappeared into the medical ward.
A crowd of black and dark-grey clad figures had formed within the hall. Expectant. I didn’t have to wonder how many felt the same as Kyong.
But, I had to be a voice of reason.
Alex winded his way between the legs of my comrades, alongside a striped, orange cat. Mr Mittens. He had belonged to Hammond. The famous cat he had liberated from his ex-wife. Heather now cared for him. And as Heather had now moved into the HQ, so had Mr Mittens.
Alongside some stray cats who had moved in, we were basically running a feline day care. Duer said that the cats were keeping out dark spirits or some such nonsense, but truthfully, I didn’t mind the extra mouths to feed. Cats were nice.
Brett sidled up to me, holding my shoulder. The flames didn’t harm him.
“Don’t blame Kyong, please. He’s taken it hard. Harder than most.”
I nodded. I knew that. Kyong blamed himself for Hammond dying. He’d even gotten it into his head that it was his fault Busani had died. Because he wasn’t strong enough.
When he wasn’t lifting ungodly large weights or practicing his forms, he was drinking till the fumes from his mouth could kill a troll. Because, more often than not these days, he was convinced that his power would never be enough, so he drank himself into oblivion.
“He didn’t go far enough,” Heather growled, still holding her polearm like she was ready for combat. “I’d have skewered the bastards.”
“And you’d have been arrested, and the Crusader rep tarnished even more,” Jane Phoenix interjected, calmly.
“I don’t want to hear that from a glorified receptionist!” Heather snarled, as if she had been turned into a werewolf by Trudie.
Jane’s face didn’t betray what she thought about that.
I stepped between them, holding my arms out diplomatically.
“Everyone needs to calm down! I know these protests are getting on our nerves, and I know we don’t deserve them. But we can’t go beating them up, or Athena forbid, skewering them. We’re meant to be protecting them!”
“Why should we protect the people who hate us?” Heather replied, coldly.
She’d also changed after Hammond died. Killing the Necro Lord hadn’t helped her. Nothing would. Gone was the timid girl who couldn’t decide to call me by my name or title. Heather was an angry, jaded killer now.
“It doesn’t matter if they hate us,” I replied, quieter, as if I doubted my own words. But I tested them in my heart and looked to Treth. He nodded.
I looked up, staring Heather and all the other Crusaders in the eyes.
“It doesn’t matter if they hate us! What matters is that we have a job to do. We protect them because it’s the right thing to do. If they want to spit on us, then that’s their problem. We’ve done the right thing. And that’s what matters!”
Heather looked down, alongside a few of the others. Treth smiled, proudly. But there was still doubt in the ranks.
“But, before any of that,” I added. “We protect each other. We’re a family. Don’t forget that. Now get back to the hunt!”
Jane moved her way towards me as the hunters dispersed. She didn’t need to speak, as I noticed a familiar face across the hall, waiting patiently for the hunters to clear.
Miriam LeBlanc, possibly the world expert in vampires, nodded to me from across the hall, and then made her way upstairs.
Chapter 3. Academics
“An inspiring speech, Ms Drummond. You’ve changed.”
I examined my one-time employer and lecturer. She wore an all-black pantsuit, contrasting with her pale skin and silvery hair. Miriam LeBlanc looked like the vampires she studied. Brett had once called it an unconscious imitation of her subject matter.
I’d met Miriam what seemed an age ago. She lived in the old Tokai Manor. The famously haunted Tokai Manor. Well, it had been before I exorcised the place. In doing so, I’d earned Miriam as a friend and mentor. She had helped me with a bunch of vampire-related cases and provided me with information over the years.
I shook hands with my old friend.
“And you haven’t changed at all.”
“Flattery won’t get you far, my girl! I feel older every day. And, unlike my test subjects, I do look it.”
I couldn’t see it. I subtly looked towards Treth. He shrugged. Well, no use arguing.
I sat down in my office chair, newly repaired and barred windows overlooking the rubble of the Gravekeeper Tavern. My wakizashi, liberated from the Necro Lord, was displayed on my desk. I sometimes used it but having Ithalen available at a moment’s notice made carrying physical blades a bit of an inconvenience. Besides, it still stank of dark magic. Cindy said I was imagining it but understood why I kept the blade at arm’s length. It had been used to commit evil. That didn’t make it evil, but it still corrupted it, in a way.
Before I could stop myself, I sighed. My body collapsed into the cold leather. I just wanted to sleep.
Miriam frowned. But, rather than judgement, for I knew Miriam could be very judgemental, I saw sympathy.
“It must be an exhausting thing, carrying the world on one’s shoulders.”
“Probably. I carry the lives of dozens of my men and half this city on mine. Not the world, but it’s pretty
stressful.”
My eyes were heavy. As much as I enjoyed Miriam’s company, she was as smart as they could get and witty too, I should be sleeping.
“What brings you here, Professor?” I asked, simply.
“Just doctor, now. I followed your example and left that toxic accolade-collecting swamp of vapidity and pretension. But call me Miriam. I abhor titles.”
I smiled, faintly. A woman after my own heart.
She leant back in her chair, as the door opened and a lady wearing an apron and carrying a tray of tea and snacks entered.
She had worked at the Gravekeeper. Only right that we hired her. The Crusaders still mourned their pub. The owner and staff had been family. Still were.
“Thanks, Debra,” I said, adding a genuine smile. I had hoped for coffee, but tea was better for my anxiety. Ugh, I sound like an old woman!
Debra left and closed the door behind her.
Miriam accepted the tea, sniffed it and blew on it to cool, before leaning back again and crossing her legs.
“I heard through the grapevine that your little outfit has pissed off the Izingane Zegazi.”
“The grapevine is petty talkative. How did you find out?”
No use hiding it from Miriam. Only reason we were keeping it under wraps in general was that we didn’t want to panic the newbies. And attract more flak from the Council.
Miriam looked somewhat offended. “Professor or not, I am a world renowned vampiric loremaster. I wrote my master’s on the Izingane Zegazi. And, for how I know this, you have been pretty active in your crusades of late. It has eliminated a lot of my test subjects, and made the survivors talk.”
Miriam’s fascination with vampires was always particularly odd. One would think her expertise would suggest a love of vampires, but she would just as easily dissect one alive as she would have tea with another. Brett couldn’t place her. I didn’t try.
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to disrupt your work. Truth be told, we haven’t been thinking things through much. We’ve been chasing unreliable leads. Just trying to find something.”
Miriam dismissed the apology with a hand wave.
“No need to apologise about slaying some gangsters and Blood Cartel leftovers. What does offend me is that you didn’t come to me first. I know you’ve read my paper on the Children. I examined you on it!”
I winced. She was right. I should have gone to her. I was kicking myself that I hadn’t.
“My mind has become swiss cheese, Miriam. You’re right. I should have contacted you as soon as we found out. But, kinda been living hunt to hunt. Not much time for thinking.”
“Has it ever not been like that for you?” she asked, raising her eyebrow. Genuinely curious.
I considered the question and shook my head.
“Consideration is not something we often get time for in this line of work. You stop to think, you lose your prey. You hesitate on the strike, you get bit.”
I snorted.
“Rifts, the last time I got a holiday was probably Avathor.”
“You almost died!” Treth gasped.
Details! At least I got some fresh air and quiet.
I realised that Miriam was frowning. Deeply. It was a weird look on her. Vampires usually looked apathetic. Or hungry. This made Miriam look more human. And I could now see her age. Made me sad, actually. I liked to think of her as vampiric, in a way. Ageless. An enigma. But, my ageless and mysterious friend. These wrinkles and this frown meant she was mortal.
“You should find time to relax, Kat. Calmness is good. It’s needed. There’s too much darkness in the world for anyone to fight endlessly and alone.”
“But somebody has to fight,” I replied, instinctively. Grimly. It was a mantra I repeated to myself every day. When I woke up. When I went to sleep. A constant voice inside my soul.
“And besides,” I continued. “Even if I took a holiday and let the others handle things, the darkness seems to follow me around.”
“Oh, it doesn’t follow you, Kat. The darkness is everywhere. It’s easy to think that we’re special. That it is targeting us in particular, but that’s nonsense. While you face vampires here in Hope City, the Shroud is decimating Canada, oni devour Nippon and sea serpents bash away at the Hawaiian barrier. Evil is everywhere. But, so is good. So are heroes, like you. You can afford to let other people pick up the sword and shield, for once.”
“Perhaps,” I spoke quietly. “But not yet. Not for a while. Darkness is everywhere, true. But this darkness in particular doesn’t like me very much. And I can’t take a nap till I put it down.”
Miriam took a long sip of her tea, and then smiled.
“Well, let’s help expedite that nap then. Here’s what I know about the monster of the week. The Children of Blood. The Izingane Zegazi. Better known by our boys at the border as “those fucking freaks with the red eyes”. You know the basics. And probably more if you remember my paper. They’re the enemy. The Empire’s assassins and elites. But they play by their own rules. The Emperor is just a convenient way to keep the peasants in line for them. But, even though they’re probably the most famous band of vampires in the southern hemisphere, we don’t know much about them.”
She took another sip. I leant back in my chair, holding back exhaustion as the lecture continued. I hoped Treth was taking notes.
“Don’t worry, Kat,” she continued. “I’m not going to tell you stuff you could find on the internet. I’ve got some theories and secrets to share.”
She leaned in closer, inviting me to lean forward too.
“I traced back the blood lineages of the Children. Took me most of my life, but I think I’m done. It’s commonly believed that every Child is related to the same primogenitor, and this may be true, but I suspect that this primogenitor is not of this world.”
“Well, duh. Vampires aren’t exactly native to Earth.”
“Cut the snark, Drummond. You’re writing a test on this. And a passing grade is the difference between victory or getting ghoulified. Of course, all vamps on Earth either originated across the In Between or were turned by one. But there’s something interesting about the Children. They all bear the same blood. What they call “The Blood”. But their sires differ.”
I raised my eyebrow at that. A sire was basically the parent in a vampire relationship. Different sires should be different blood. Like how a different father would mean different genes for a human.
“So, the sires are related?” I offered.
“Exactly. And this is where the theories start.” Miriam’s eyes lit up. She loved theorising. She’d have made a great conspiracy theorist Pre-Cataclysm. Now, she made an even greater scholar.
“The story they tell us is that the founding brothers of the Izingane Zegazi are not real brothers but were sired separately and found each other to form the vampire clans. But this is a deception. While their powers differ, there is a similarity in lineage between the fledglings of every brother. Which suggests a common ancestor. This would also explain the widespread connection to the Blood.”
She shook her head and grinned smugly, as if she’d uncovered the location of Atlantis. “Rather, I suspect that the four founders of the Izingane Zegazi are true vampires, all born of an even truer vampire. One like the vampiric god that you banished a lifetime ago.”
A lifetime was only a few years. It felt like a lifetime.
“The public story of the founders suggests that they were humans,” I countered. “And they look human. Well, as much as a vampire can look human.”
“A ruse,” Miriam replied. “I followed up on at least two of their stories. And they don’t add up. The mysteriously vanished Nkosi Kuzalwa Igazi claimed that he fought in the Struggle for the IFP. There are no such records of his involvement. I’ve interviewed top IFP members. They swear they have never heard of him. That it was a front to legitimise him for the Imperial Court. For his alleged brother, Umbhubhisi Igazi, the story is even thinner. He claims royal lineage, but the Zulu imperial family keep
s extensive records of such matters. A pretender to the throne is not uncommon, but he claims the lineage without the claim to power.”
“There seems to also be a common theme among them,” I offered. “They all fancy themselves as quite important. If they had told us they were a plumber and a retiree before being turned, we’d probably not have suspected them.”
Miriam nodded and smiled, satisfied that I was convinced about her theory. And it was convincing. True vampires didn’t need to be turned. They were originals. Proper monsters. Not just victims who’d become blood-hungry psychos. They were harder to humanise. Which explained why the Children’s founders tried so hard to hide their origins.
“You said that Kuzalwa Igazi is dead? How?”
“I said mysteriously vanished. Nobody knows how. Well, the Children tried to hide their theories, but I have my ways. They say that the last thing the vampire lord saw before he died was a Xhosa warrior called a Blood Hunter. But things grow blurry after that. Not sure what he or she did to slay Kuzalwa. But I can tell you about his confirmed living siblings.”
I nodded. As much as I’d like to know how the one brother had died, knowing more about the survivors would definitely help.
“First, Umbhubhisi. A hot head, by all accounts. Even the repressed imperial press has been unable to hide his debauchery. Loves to pillage villages. And wants to make a statement. Doesn’t like to hide. Only fitting that it seems he is one of the few vampires who has manifested the ability to resist sunlight.”
“What?!” I gasped. “That’s impossible.”
Miriam nodded, gravely. “Trust me, Kat. When it comes to vampires, anything is possible. I have photos of Umbhubhisi in broad daylight. Fangs, red-eyes, and all. And enough witnesses attest to the fact that he is a vampire. He has many fledgelings. Apparently, some share his unique traits”
I couldn’t help but grind my teeth and pick at my pants. Often, the only way to get rid of a vamp for sure was the sun. Having vamps that could survive the sun meant we’d have to get creative with slaying them, and that we weren’t safe during the day.
Children of Blood (Kat Drummond Book 13) Page 3