by DB Nielsen
“I shall drain your lifeforce on the slaughter stone and grind your bones to dust. And when there is nothing of your body left to even remain a memory, then you shall serve us for all eternity—”
“Enough talk! Ti menia dostal! You are as long-winded as Tolstoy!” Stanislav raced forward and struck.
Longsword met the dark mage’s shoulder before he could finish speaking. The thin dagger in the dark mage’s hand clattered to the ground. More blood sprayed over the slaughter stone, but this time, it was the enemy’s blood.
It was a signal.
At the same time, in one smooth movement, a disheveled, smoldering Benjamin rose from the ground. Ignoring his burns and lacerations, he leaped forward, unsheathing his blade and tore through the arcanist’s torso.
The dark mage’s body shuddered and collapsed under the hooded robe. A deep, wide gash split the man’s collarbone through to his chest. Another sliced across the middle with almost surgical precision, stomach and entrails pouring out onto the ground.
A resounding thunderclap split the air.
Yellow sparks fountained upward into the night sky as the fog suddenly dispersed, like a well of natural gas exploding, leaving the night sky clear once more.
“Vlad’s nuts!” exclaimed Caleb, leaping back at the eruption. “Next time, give a Malum fair warning, why don’t you? I think I’ve lost my eyebrows!”
Benjamin jeered as his clothes still smoked. “Give me a break. It’s not like you were on the receiving end of a power surge.”
“Starik, don’t tell me you were afraid? I have heard of hair going white, but I think all your hair has fallen out.” Stanislav laughed, clapping Caleb on the back to run his hand over Caleb’s bald head in a mocking gesture.
Caleb shot him a filthy look as he extricated himself from Stanislav’s grasp. He looked down at the enormous slaughter stone. “Holy Vlad’s balls! What the hell is this? And what are we supposed to do with it?”
“I’d like to have Seth take a look at it too,” Benjamin murmured. “Seems like it’d be just up his alley.” His burns and welts were already healing, but his eyes held a glittering obsidian, suggesting his blood rage was held under a tight leash.
“Who is this Seth?” the Underground Russian mafia boss asked.
Benjamin opened his mouth to answer, but the words were never formed as a great fork of lightning erupted above them.
Spinning around, they searched the river, now bathed in pale moonlight, sweeping the embankment toward the Tower. The air was clean, but there was still a lingering stench. This time, the sharp, chlorinated smell of ozone.
“There! Up on the Bloody Tower!” Aislinn could see both female vampires, Varya and Zhenya, silhouetted against the half moon, struggling with some unknown evil, before they disappeared again from sight.
Another flash of lightning discharged from the dark cloudbank amassing above the Bloody Tower, striking the battlements. As the lightning hit the flagpole and spires above the Tower of London, St. Elmo’s fire fluoresced all around, a spooky blue and violet light.
“Ultraviolet light.” Benjamin’s warning had them momentarily stunned. “Be careful. You can smell it. The ozone. There’s a subtle mind at work behind this. It’s an easy way to eliminate our kind.”
There was no more view of the two warriors. The oppressive, dark bank of concealing clouds shrouded the battlements and lent a ghostly luminescence to the landscape.
“We need to get up there,” stated Aislinn. She felt the slow burn of blood rage within.
“That’s not going to be easy,” Caleb said, assessing the terrain ahead.
The night sky and undulating ground sweeping toward the Tower now gave off a faint sickly violet glow, and a surge like an electric shock received from touching a livewire traveled the length between the vampires on the boardwalk and the source of dark magic hidden from their view.
“Not afraid of a little death, my friend?” Benjamin’s green eyes flashed humorously. “Death is an adventure.”
“Death is a pain in the neck,” Caleb replied dryly.
Benjamin rolled his eyes. “Oh, you’re so funny. Like the pun. Not.”
“You two, quit it,” Aislinn reprimanded with a small frown. “You’re a regular vampire vaudeville act. You should go on stage together. Now let’s move.”
A vague shape lumbered across the landscape, joined by another. And then one more.
“What the fuck is that?” Cooper whispered. There was something frighteningly wrong with the man-shaped figure which chilled him to the bone.
Cooper and Cole were approaching the Tower of London when they first encountered the yellow fog. It had taken them a while to get their bearings since Cooper had only seen a few of Varya’s texts to Aislinn, noting that the last destination mentioned was St. Paul’s Churchyard. But, of course, that wasn’t the place where Aislinn and the others were to be found. And while the sulfurous stench of the fog ahead had obscured the trail of vampire, demon, and shapeshifter, it had been a no-brainer that it would lead them to their destination. Plus, it had been easy enough to follow.
By this stage, Cole was having second thoughts about whether they should be there. But Cooper was adamant, and he couldn’t very well leave the recently reborn Malum on his own.
Aislinn was going to kill him.
She was going to kill him regardless, since he had a sinking feeling that he’d been manipulated by Cooper, but she was going to kill him twice over if he abandoned his younger brother and left Cooper to his own devices. Cole’s head was firmly placed on the block. Either way, he was fucked.
And as if to make matters worse, one minute they were under the clear night sky, treading upon new-fallen snow, and the next, they were following the tendrils of fog like breadcrumbs that led the way.
But that was when things got really bad.
Within the yellow fog, intermittently and without a pattern, lightning flared across the Thames river. And the fog acted like it had a will of its own. The foul reek of dark magic and rotting vegetation was still menacingly carried by it.
And then, almost as if the gods had snapped their fingers, the yellow fog dissipated in an eruption of crackling sparks, leaving them exposed on the ground. The churning waters of the Thames fell silent.
Cole looked quickly around and saw another large, ungainly figure sliding between the stone entrance to the Tower. “I’ve got no idea what that thing is, but we’ll have to chance it. Get your crossbow ready. We’re sitting ducks if we stay here. It’s just a matter of whether the lightning gets us first or that thing. And I’m more concerned with the lightning because that isn’t ordinary lightning.”
They managed to duck for cover behind the high walls, but it wouldn’t be long before one of the aimlessly shuffling figures reached them.
“What now?” Cooper asked, eyes darting back and forth in search of Aislinn and the others.
“Time to leap over walls, bro.” Cole was looking up at the solid battlements above.
“Should be okay,” Cooper said, assessing the height of the wall. “I’ve trained at the academy and was taught parkour.”
“Please.” The young poet grinned. “You’re a vampire now. You’ve got to think like one. ‘With love’s light wings did I o’erperch these walls, for stony limits cannot hold love out’.”
“How many times do I have to tell you that I don’t have an Oedipus Complex?” Cooper instantly protested, dark eyes flashing angrily.
Cole cleared his throat, looking slightly embarrassed. “Wasn’t even thinking it. Got more important things to worry about—like staying alive.”
Well, this is awkward. Cooper felt himself flushing. He covered his humiliation with a lot of low cursing under his breath.
He felt Cole stiffen beside him.
“I’m not anemic nor pasty. I’m naturally pale. And I don’t have a stake up my ass—my Pilates instructor calls it good core balance, for your information.” Cole was outraged, his voice slightly squeaky. “A
nd, most importantly, I’m a vampire which you seem to keep forgetting. Perfect hearing, thanks very much.”
Chapter 31
A terrified, shrill scream resonated in the air.
“Vlad’s teeth!” Aislinn said grimly. “It’s Cole! And he’s with Cooper! I told them to stay put!”
Caleb grunted, knowing this meant trouble.
“Obedience is a must, or there is work, work, work,” the Underground Russian mafia boss stated, discussing the merits of business as more screams could be heard. “Subordinates must be taught to take orders without question. You are welcome to use my newest tar pit, if necessary.”
Caleb barked out a nervous laugh. “Aislinn likes her offspring. She doesn’t consider them as cannon fodder.”
“Da? Not expendable? Interesting idea. Ensures loyalty perhaps?” Stanislav pondered the merits of turning humans not merely as an investment in henchmen and mafioso.
“Can we talk about this later? Focus, boys. Cole and Cooper are in trouble. And Zhenya and Varya need our help.” Aislinn’s skean was already in her hand as she began to run toward the Tower.
“Nu ti dajosh! Come. Death is an adventure.” Stanislav took off after Aislinn.
“Vlad’s nuts!” Caleb grumbled. “Why is everyone so desperate to see Demura?”
Benjamin and Caleb exchanged a look. The scientist shrugged before taking off after the others.
“What the Vlad?” Caleb asked, following in their footsteps.
Within moments, they were surrounded. The lumbering figures were all around them. One of the clay men rose directly in front of them as a glowing symbol flashed toward their heads. Its misshapen shape was formed out of the mud nearby, coming together like molded clay. But it was warped and grotesque. Faceless and deformed. Its entire body was dung-colored, and it was covered with decomposing and oozing sores like a stinking compost of rotting vegetation.
It shambled unsteadily forward on legs as thick as tree trunks, malformed hands reaching out for Stanislav. The equally stocky Malum swung his sword at the figure. The first blow struck the dark-magic conjuring solidly in its chest and sliced through to the other side without any visible effect.
With a sucking sound, Stanislav pulled his sword out of the clay man’s body and, desperately swinging it again, struck the outstretched arm. Like soft, oozing mud, the dismembered limb fell and splattered on the ground, instantly absorbed back into the earth.
But now the ground gave off a faint glow.
All around, the snow-covered embankment was marked with sludge and mud and blood where all manner of bird and beast had met their untimely deaths. No life could be felt beneath. There was something else though. Something even now at work, dark and ancient.
Benjamin was systematically hacking off limbs since, even without a head, the clay men continued to surge forward. “Now I know what they mean when they say, ‘as thick as mud.’”
Caleb nodded, absorbing this information. Unlike Benjamin’s fighting style, he used brute force by kneecapping the clay men with his sword and seeing them topple to the ground. “These guys have no brains. They’re mindless beings.”
Stanislav looked quickly over his shoulder, noting five more behind him. “These Druids must know that vampires can’t die from being smothered in mud.”
“Delaying tactics,” Aislinn stated, knowing there was no use in striking it with a well-aimed jab or sidekick since it would be as ineffectual as stepping into quicksand. She recoiled from the oozing, slimy reach of her adversary with revulsion. “Seriously, ugh, this is gross. I don’t even like mud masks, even though Cole assures me that his beautician only uses mud from the Dead Sea. There’s no way I want this stuff on me. It’s putrid. It stinks.”
She leaped out of the way, swinging her skean as she moved in a graceful arc. The blow was aimed at the clay man’s ankles, and it toppled backward, splattering in a thick goo on the ground.
“At this rate, we’re going to cause much more destruction than if we simply let them get us,” Benjamin noted. The creatures were hardly eco-friendly, causing an instant decay worse than climate change where they fell.
“There’s got to be a better way,” Aislinn stated, just as another scream rent the air.
“Go!” Benjamin offered, spinning around to take out another creature. “I can hold them here, but the others need help.”
Not needing to be told twice, Aislinn nodded and took off at a swift run, dodging more slimy, outstretched arms, so fast that her movement was a blur.
Several hundred feet ahead, beyond the vine-covered Tower walls, there was a thrashing that could be heard in the wake of the latest lightning strike. In one massive bound, Aislinn took the embankment and the wall in front of her, landing fleet footed on the battlements.
She noticed everything in a microsecond. It should have been nothing more than a blur of streaks and swatches. Undefined. Colorless. But there was such clarity in that instant.
The two female vampires were fighting back a pack of ferocious hellhounds below the Bloody Tower, while simultaneously trying to avoid the flares of ultraviolet light wielded by the dark mage above them. Despite letting loose the hellhounds, Thirteen was nowhere to be seen.
But Cooper and Cole—holy Vlad!—were right in the thick of things.
The melee was raging below the Bloody Tower. Varya and Zhenya were systematically chopping and hacking at the hellhounds, weaving amongst the flashes of ultraviolet light in an intricate dance as they tried to avoid the slathering jaws.
Their rabid howling was all around the female vampires. Something hurtled in front of Varya. A filthy, decomposing dog bared its savage teeth and leaped forward as a growl ripped through its throat. It landed on all fours next to the ruddy-faced vampire.
“Vlad’s nuts!” she hissed and thrust the blade through its thick, armor-like coat. The gold-edged tip of the sword sliced into its chest. The hellhound howled in pain and anger, backing away.
Another circled.
The hound paced toward Zhenya, growling low in its throat. This one was larger but lean and mean. Its lips drew back from its teeth in a nasty snarl. Zhenya could see its lolling red tongue dribbling saliva down its jaws. The Russian Malum took off running toward the beast, tackling it to the ground as her thick thighs locked around its neck and squeezed tightly. In one smooth movement, she plunged her dagger and hastened its death by slicing it across the throat. Blood splattered in an arc over the ground.
“Holy Vlad, these animals stink!” Varya cried, darting in and out of the fray, daggers leaving bloody gashes in their rotting fur.
“Stop playing with them and just kill them for Vlad’s sake!” Zhenya shouted, reaching forward with her dripping dagger and forcefully plunging it through the skull until the light in its eyes dulled.
With a howl, a hound sprang from behind. Zhenya whirled, and there was a flash of metal and a sickening, slurping noise as the blade embedded into the hellhound’s side. But it was too late. It struck Zhenya, and she went down. The hound’s jaws clamped shut over her shoulder and tore at her flesh. Teeth snapping, claws tearing, its jaws dripped vermillion blood as it then lunged for Zhenya’s throat.
But Varya was suddenly there, plunging into the fight.
She thrust one dagger forward and slit the hound’s throat from ear to ear. It collapsed upon the other vampire.
Weakly, Zhenya pushed the heavy hound from her prone form. She’d lost a bit of blood, and her wound was taking time to heal. Ashen faced and trembling, she looked at Varya and said, “Don’t make me have to like you.”
Varya snorted. “I wouldn’t dream of it. I much prefer our hate-hate relationship. It’ll make it easier for me to kill you myself.”
“Should’ve known there was a reason why you killed the bitch.” She grunted. Flexing her muscles, she tested the strength of her shoulder as it reknit itself. Then she turned swiftly to fight back to back with the other vampire. “Cuchka derganaya. I’ll buy you a drink if we ever get out of this.”<
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“Oh, I’m counting on getting out of this alive,” Varya spat. Her eyes flashed obsidian as blood rage took hold. “There are a few more individuals on my list I intend to kill.”
A sizzling bolt of lightning struck from the Bloody Tower above, the ground trembling with the violence of unleashed dark magic. There was a yelping and a thump as a hellhound failed to move out of the way quickly enough.
“Mother of Vlad! I love the smell of ozone in the morning! Hair of the dog!” The great, bald Malum appeared, dagger in hand. With a mighty swing, Caleb cut off the head of a hellhound. It sailed through the air and landed with a sickening thud several yards away. “Ten Aurum Julius coins that the next lightning bolt is in two minutes.”
“A huy li? One minute.” Zhenya kicked a growling hound in its muzzle. It only had the effect of pissing it off even more.
“You’re on,” said Varya. “A bloodsucker and his money are soon parted. Two bloodsuckers are even better.”
“Look out behind you!” Cooper shrieked.
Cole barely had time to glance over his shoulder when he felt the slimy grip of the clay man’s fingers around his ankle, tugging him off balance. He fell backward, landing hard on the ground. The headless creature was groping blindly, trying to pull Cole’s body farther along the lane near Traitor’s Gate. Cole furiously slapped at the creature’s head and hands without luck, his palms coming away muddy and dripping blood.
Cooper’s crossbow was useless against them, and the dagger he kept in his boot wasn’t much use either, since he was feverishly attempting to cut away the offending mud limbs clutching at Cole. But these were tougher, intertwined with dead twigs.
“Fucking Groot, get off!” he shouted.
Cooper tried to halt the clay man’s movements, but he was hurled back onto the hard pavement with one fierce blow. There were so many of them, and they were impossible to kill since they weren’t alive. They seemed to generate a rank, fetid odor which overpowered even the acrid, electrical discharge given off by the casting of spells and lightning.