Jeremy spotted her. Foolishly, she’d stopped to see if she was pursued. She saw him at the same instant and took off. They reached a street outside the park and Jeremy thought of taking a shot at the fleeing girl. The gun would not kill a vamp but would drop her.
As he slowed to pull the pistol, an SUV flashed its brights into his eyes. The yellow vehicle roared from the corner where it had been idling and skidded to a stop. The vampire leapt in and the Nissan sped off. Jeremy caught sight of the frightened man’s face. But his night vision was just returning and he caught part of the license plate as Nissan screeched around a corner.
Jeremy was left standing, pistol in one hand and sword in the other.
You look like an extra from “Pirates of the Caribbean,” Shadowheart said. Head back into the park before someone sees you.
He found Debbie sitting on the drugger’s chest playing with his pistol. The man was naked, gagged, bound with his clothes and sporting two bandages on his thigh.
“You get her?” Debbie asked. She dumped the bullets from the revolver cylinder on the ground, then bent the cylinder so it wouldn’t fit back in the revolver and threw the weapon into the bushes.
“No.”
“Damn.”
“Target of opportunity?” he asked, gesturing at the wide-eyed man.
“I figured you wouldn’t care about a druggy losing a little blood. He’ll lose more than I took to mosquitoes before he works himself loose.”
Jeremy glared down at him. “You’re right. I don’t care. Come on. Let’s get before the cops show up.”
“Nice eating you,” Debbie said to the drugger. “Drink lots and lots of fluids and take extra vitamins, honey.”
*****
The next day Jeremy hacked the DMV database. In hours he’d found the information: George Bexley, owner of a 2006, yellow Nissan Pathfinder. Bexley lived in a new development of townhomes south of Charlotte on Johnston Road.
Jeremy rented a white van and threw magnetic Time-Warner Cable signs on both sides. No one would question the presence of a cable van in the neighborhood, though he might run into irate customers.
Jeremy drove down in daylight and staked out the three-story townhomes. Bexley’s home was at the end of the block, every shade and curtain was down and drawn.
It made sense in a way. A new neighborhood would usually be made up of transitory people who did not know each other. He studied the building, looking for a way to break in. There were too many people about to try now. A couple walked a dog past his parked car. Some kids rode by on scooters.
Jeremy got out and strolled up to the house, dressed in coveralls and toting a toolbox and satchel. No one paid any attention. Quickly he set up mini-mikes and a camera on the house. Even standing at the windows he could see nothing inside.
He returned to the van, and set up his equipment and settled in, reclining the seat so he could barely be seen. Vampires had to avoid the sun but it could be active inside the building. Contrary to the Dracula legend, vampires were not unconscious during the day, though they were less active. Jeremy preferred to attack in daylight but there was no opportunity. Hours passed. The sun drooped behind the massing clouds. Cars returned to garages. People went in for the evening.
The yellow SUV rounded the corner and drove right by his van, not three feet away. Jeremy slunk further in his seat as the Nissan pulled into a driveway. A man, near Jeremy’s own height of six feet, got out. George Bexley looked to be thirty, with thinning hair. Bexley picked up the newspaper, mail and walked up to the door. Since he walked under the setting sun he was clearly not a vampire.
As the door opened Jeremy flipped up his binoculars. She stood just inside the door, but the wide smile on her petite face at the sight of Bexley disturbed Jeremy. His distress grew when the man laughed and walked in, sweeping her up in his arms. The door closed shutting off further view.
Jeremy flicked on his mikes. For a few minutes all he could hear was indistinct voices and the sound of dishes clattering.
“Sabella, do we have any ranch dressing?” Jeremy assumed the male voice was Bexley. He’d moved into the dining room near the miked window.
An indistinct female voice replied.
“Aw, I hate vinaigrette. What about French?”
“Well, George,” came the female voice, “if you absolutely must drown all my tasty vegetables in dressing, here it is.”
“Thanks, honey. Quiet day?
“Yes, I dozed a lot. I am still a bit weak from the chase. I know you hate it but I must hunt soon.”
“Not tonight,” he said. “That guy with the sword might be out there. I can give you enough to keep you going.”
“Darling, I’m always so afraid that it will make you sick. I can’t risk you dying,”
“Hey, don’t worry. I’m eating all this iron-rich spinach that you got for me. ”
“I’m so sorry about this, George. So sorry. You should never—”
“Baby, don’t do this to yourself. It was either be turned by that monster that bit you, or the cancer would have killed you within weeks.
“We’ll hunt another time. Either a bad guy, where it doesn’t matter, or somebody strong, and you’ll have to get better at controlling yourself. You’re making progress. You hunt so much less than you used to,”
“Yes, yes it’s so hard. I’m always so hungry. My hatred of the living rises like a tide in me. I don’t want to but—”
“I love you. Somehow we will beat this thing. Find a way back, manage it some way until then.”
“Poor George, you don’t deserve this. I don’t want this for you.”
“Darling, please don’t cry…”
Jeremy turned the mike off so he didn’t have to hear the sound of weeping. He felt ill. This was not what he expected. Instead of a merciless vampire and her minion, he had a tragedy on his hands: a human in love, a vampire trying to contain its evil in the hope of living again.
“God,” he said, “all I want to do is turn on the car and drive off.”
“Thee cannot.” Shadowheart appeared in the seat next to him in her teen mall-rat guise.
“You heard,” he demanded.
“I did and it grieves me in ways that you cannot begin to know.”
“Then find some way for me to help them.”
“Help them, Jeremy?” Her face lay shadowed by the harsh streetlights but her eyes glittered, hard and bright. “There is no help in the Realm of Earth for Sabella. The only release is to pass beyond. As for George, for the best of reasons, love, he is self-chained to one who must destroy. His only salvation comes with repenting of murders he has abetted.”
“I don’t have to be the one to do this,” he said, jaw clenched so hard that the muscles jumped.
“No,” Shadowheart said. “If she stays, Debbie will eventually find and kill her and probably George as well. Allow them to move and it will fall to another soldier of light to battle them, over the bodies of all they slay or injure in the interim.”
“Go away,” he said. “I need to think.”
Shadowheart vanished.
Jeremy looked at the door behind which a vampire wept and a man sought to protect his love. He reached for his cell phone and called Debbie.
“Hey, honey,” she said. “Found them?
“Yes,” he gave the address. “I’m in a white cable van. How soon can you get here?
“Look for me in twenty minutes.”
Jeremy sat in the truck and waited. Finally a pink VW pulled up behind him, driving without lights. Vamps saw well in the dark. Debbie wore black leather pants with a matching jacket, a kerchief hid some of her bright yellow hair. She opened the door and slipped into the shotgun seat.
“Hey, Templar. Nice job of tracking. So what’s the plan?”
“Listen to this.” Jeremy played the digital of George’s homecoming.
Thunder rumbled in the distance as the recording stopped. “Ain’t that sweet? Can we kill them now?” Debbie said.
“I need to know something, Debbie. Why are you good?”
“I’m not good, honey, I’m just not that bad.”
“That’s no answer.”
“Oh goody, we’re going to do Interview with the Vampire.”
“Debbie, I may need options here that I’ve never considered.”
Debbie shifted, seeming annoyed, then her face smoothed out, becoming as cool and remote as marble. “Jeremy, I live among humans without harming them. You’re thinking that’s because of regret or guilt. Maybe thinking that it has something to do with atoning for the people I killed when I was a regular vamp. It doesn’t. I just don’t want have to dispose of fifty to sixty bodies a year or keep moving on.”
“That can’t be all,” he demanded.
“Can’t it? Two hundred years ago I was an ignorant whore in New Orleans, dying from yellow fever when Ben Carrier made me a vamp. I was twenty-six. That wasn’t young in a time when human life averaged forty years. Suddenly I was immortal and amoral. A vampire isn’t a human who drinks blood, Jeremy. It’s a change in being. I rise with the moon, drink blood, screw like a mink and party all the time. I’m Lindsey Lohan in warp drive. That life would kill a human in years from ennui or despair. But I’m not heading for a degree, motherhood or retirement. Every day is Groundhog Day for me.”
“Doesn’t explain why you stopped killing humans. You’re the only one that ever has.”
“I’m a time tourist, honey. I’ve got a practical eternity if I don’t screw it up. I’ve learned to drive a car and use a computer. I’ve read Jane Austen and seen first run Charlie Chaplin films. One incredible night I saw men walk on the moon. Who knows what the future holds? I’ll get to see it.”
“Unless,” she turned to look at him, “a Templar, or some other soldier of light cuts me down. Hell, half the vamps that get whacked get it from humans who know enough to stake them during daylight. There’s one fucker on the West Coast who uses UV lamps and fries us. So I helped you in return for a White Pass. For my pardon.”
“So it’s all about you?”
“You bet, baby. A vampire is all Id and don’t you damn well forget it. My moral compass just spins, honey. It doesn’t point anywhere. Most of us hate the living and the light. I’m different…for now, Jeremy, for now.”
They sat in silence for minutes; it began to rain. A thin drizzle, it obscured the far end of the block.
“We won’t kill the man,” he said finally.
“I hope not,” Debbie shrugged.
He looked at her. “Kill him and I’ll kill you. You can kiss your White Pass goodbye no matter what happens. Win or lose.”
Tension filled the small space and finally Debbie smiled. “You’re learning, boy.”
Jeremy opened the van door and unsheathed the bloodsword. Then, before his wavering resolve could fail him, he ran across the street, through the pelting rain, up the driveway and slammed into the front door. It was the usual cheap builder’s-grade lock and snapped. Jeremy rolled up and ran into the dining room. Debbie came in on his heels.
Sabella and George leapt up from their candlelit dinner table as he barged in. Jeremy knew he should have thrown himself at Sabella, cutting her down by surprise. But he slowed, facing the pair across the table.
“Vampire,” he said. “I’m Leclerc, Knight Templar. You know why I am here, know what I must do. Bid your man withdraw.”
“Sabella,” George screamed, “Run.” He threw a chair at Jeremy.
Jeremy batted the chair away with his arm. Sabella leapt across the table. But she’d reckoned without his trained reflexes. The bloodsword licked out and cut deeply into her left arm and side. She screamed, wounded bitterly by the supernatural weapon. Twisting in the air, she crashed into a wall, bringing down a painting.
Before Jeremy could finish her, George made a clumsy lunge at him. Debbie intercepted the human, slamming him to the floor. Jeremy paused to be certain Debbie hadn’t killed him.
The blonde vampire glared at Jeremy. “He’ll live. Get her.”
Sabella had staggered to her feet, leaking stolen blood. With a wild, despairing look at George, she ran out the French doors to the deck.
Jeremy started to chase her when three shots made him turn back. Debbie sank to the ground, the front of her leather jacket torn by exit wounds. Shock and surprise filled her face as she fell forward. George had pulled a pistol from the sideboard. Now he advanced toward Jeremy. Debbie scissored her legs, catching George and making him stumble forward.
Jeremy lunged across the space, seizing George’s gun hand with his left. His right hand held the bloodsword but he could not bring himself to cut George down. He dropped the sword and hit George in the face twice, but the older man hung on doggedly. “Leave her alone,” he cried. “It’s not her fault.”
Sickened by what he was doing, Jeremy slammed an elbow against George’s chin, dropping him unconscious.
He knelt down by Debbie.
“Crap,” she groaned. “A goddamn .44. Everybody’s carrying fucking cannons these days. Oh god that hurts.”
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry ” Jeremy stammered. “I didn’t—”
“Get her, you dumb shit,” she hissed. “I’ll just lie here and suffer.”
Torn, Jeremy looked at the French doors and at the prone George.
“Don’t touch him,” Jeremy ordered.
“Bastard,” she swore as she held her hands over her blasted middle.
He dashed into the rain after Sabella. She had not gotten far, staggering into the woods that adjoined the development. She spotted him and redoubled her speed, disappearing into the woods and the gloom.
He managed to follow the vampire’s trail for a hundred yards before losing it. He strained his ears for the sound of her but could hear only wind and rain rustling the leaves and foliage.
“Sabella,” George yelled from behind Jeremy.
Jeremy spun around, this time drawing his own pistol. How had George gotten past Debbie?
The man stumbled about the woods. From somewhere he produced a flashlight.
George’s presence might play to Jeremy’s advantage. The bloodsword was very effective against the unliving and he’d wounded Sabella badly. She might try to return to George.
Jeremy circled back, taking a trail doubtless made by the neighborhood children. It ended at a small clearing. In it stood an amalgam of wood and tarps, a child’s hiding place. Sabella knelt by the little tarp shack, her small, pale face contorted. George, sobbing, held her in his arms. He stared as Jeremy walked into the clearing, then jumped as Debbie came in from the other side.
“I shot you,” he said, astonished.
“Yeah, you did. Son-of-a-bitch.” Jeremy saw that her abused middle was wrapped in a bloodstained sheet. She must have left George to find something to bind herself up with. Fortunately, George’s big revolver was stuck in her belt.
Sabella stirred weakly. “You’re a vampire too. Like me.”
“No,” Debbie said. “Not like you. I didn’t choose it.”
“Leave us alone,” George said, tears and rain washing down his face.
“I would trade anything if I could,” Jeremy said. He felt cold and numb, empty of emotion, of pain, even of volition. A leaden dread enveloped him as he watched the pair. George embraced Sabella. Her tiny form almost disappeared against him as blood leaked from the vampire’s slashed side. She glared back, pale face defiant.
“You win, Templar. You and your vampire whore,” she said, a bitter smile twisting her lips. “Go ahead and destroy me.”
“No,” George shouted and made as if to stand, but she clung to him.
“You can’t fight them,” she demanded. “You can’t. I should have died of the disease when I was meant to, should never have hoped I could have a place in the world. I’ll be damned to hell before I will lose you to a hopeless fight.”
“But you are damned already,” a voice said.
Jeremy didn’t turn. He just wanted it to end. No speech, no dr
ama, but that too could not be.
Shadowheart glided past him in her archangel manifestation. Now far taller than Jeremy, with skin as pale as the vampire’s and long hair as dark, she made an eerie counterpoint to Sabella. But for the black and red wings she might have been kin to the vampire. The mail and leather that Shadowheart wore made no noise and had no scent.
Unfazed by Jeremy and the bloodsword, Sabella gave a frightened squeak at the sight of Shadowheart, pressing back against George, who stared in awe at the towering Angel.
“Who are you to damn her?” George finally managed. “Where were you when she was made into this? Where was the merciful God that day?”
“Yes,” Jeremy spoke thickly, to everyone’s evident surprise. “Where was God when Sabella got sick? Where was he when Sabella’s soul was drawn out? Where was God when she fed on her victims? Where is God, Shadowheart? Go on, answer them. Answer me, damn you.”
Shadowheart half-turned toward him. “This again, Jeremy? I have no more answers for you than I did the first time you demanded them. God is not answerable to his creations for the outcomes of their lives so long as they have free will. Sabella chose not to die but to exist and take other lives. For that she too must answer. Or do you forgive her for those she slew simply because it is now her nature?”
He stared at his guardian angel and said nothing.
“To all of creation there is a choice. Go toward God, on a path sometimes perilous and agonizing, or go away into nothingness and meaninglessness,” Shadowheart said.
“And what of mercy?” George said. “Since we found each other she has taken less lives and fed only on the evil and the worthless-”
“Worthless?” Shadowheart said, her clear gray eyes boring in. “No part of God’s creation is worth more or less in the eyes of the divine.”
“Enough,” Sabella whispered. “Take me, just promise you won’t hurt George.”
“The hell with that,” George growled. “They get you over my dead body.”
“No, no, no,” she said, tears tracking down the small face. “I could not bear it.”
Knight in Charlotte Page 14