Day of Execution

by Lily Luchesi

  “Danny, get that familial bullshit out of your mind and think like the Emperor,” she said, a bit more harsh than she intended. “He’s not only safer here, but he’s a valuable asset. We’d be stupid to let him go when he clearly wants to help.”

  “Thank you,” Daniel said, exasperated. “Pops, you can’t stop me. And like she said, I’m a willing ally. I’m already ahead in all my classes. I can stop now and make anything up over the summer if I need to.”

  “Excuse me if I don’t want my great-grandson to become a vampire’s dinner!” Danny said.

  “I’m not eight anymore, Pops. You guys taught me how to fight. Alec is teaching me how to not let demons into my head. I’m better off here than a sitting duck at college.” Daniel nudged Danny with his shoulder. “Besides, you should be happy. Hunting monsters is now a family affair.”

  Danny looked between his great-grandson and his wife and shook his head. “Why do I surround myself with crazy people?”

  “Because like calls to like,” Angelica said with a smile. She pressed her lips to his bearded cheek and continued, “We’re going to take care of each other. Like a family should.”

  Sean, who had been silent through their familial spat, cleared his throat. “If we can all head to my office, I’ll draw up the paperwork.”

  In ten minutes, Daniel was back in temporary employment with the PID. That was Danny’s one demand, that it be temporary until they’d figured out how to stop Hell from luring vampires to the dark side.

  “I feel like I’m joining a secret society,” Daniel commented as he was handed a temporary ID that Sean had just printed in the office. He stared down at the badge with crossed swords, a bat, and a crescent moon. “I didn’t even get one of these when I helped you guys with Dakota.”

  “You might as well be. The PID is the largest organization in the world,” Sean bragged. “All because of this vamp right here.”

  Angelica smiled at him.

  “So you really started this all by yourself?” Daniel asked.

  She nodded. “It started as a necessity to look for a single perp, but it grew and grew until it became an institution. Along with hunting down and executing paranormal criminals, we have saved countless species with our resources all around the world.”

  “How did you build it up?” he wanted to know.

  She chuckled. “That’s quite a long story.”

  “Well, who was the perp you were hunting?”

  “My father,” she replied, feeling like her heart had been dipped in a bucket of ice water. “I’m sure Danny told you about that case, where we met.”

  Daniel nodded. “I still want to know about how you built this place. Can you show me, if it’ll take too long to tell me? Even if I can’t read your memories, I bet Pops can.”

  Angelica looked over at Danny, who was standing near the doorway.

  “Actually, you never told me how you came to form this place. I have my past self’s memories, of course, at the first blood bank here in Chicago, but the details from before then were never made clear to me,” he admitted. “I’d like to know.”

  Angelica was torn between being proud that they wanted to know how she’d made her empire, while at the same time didn’t want to relive it. Because while she loved what she did, the reason why she did it wasn’t pleasant. Despite killing Vincent Cross, after nearly two centuries of hunting him, what he’d done still hurt.

  “I traveled the world at that point in time,” Sean began, “and I am still impressed that you managed to do all this as a woman in the nineteenth century.”

  At this she gave a little chuckle. “Starting it was no problem: I had money. It talks much more than gender ever could, both then and now. And when it came to hunting, when I started the PID, being a woman was the perfect cover. No one ever thought that their executioner would be wearing high heels and lipstick.”

  Danny laughed. “Were they surprised, when they saw you were the one hunting them?”

  She smirked. “Not for long. If you guys really want the details, I can give them to you. But to Danny. He should be able to get my memories now, and can transmit them to the two of you through touch.”

  She stood up from the chair she’d been sitting in and took Danny’s hands. Daniel put a hand on one of Danny’s shoulders and Sean did the same to the other one.

  Angelica closed her eyes and brought up the old memories, starting with the night she knew she’d be leaving London for the Windy City...

  5

  London, England

  October 1880

  Angelica Cross hid behind the church door, upset that there were no clear windows to see out of. This stained glass had to go. Outside were the deep, guttural groans of the zonbis that had risen from the adjacent cemetery.

  Across the threshold was Detective Inspector George Linwood, a psychic vampire who still hunted for the PID in London and ran Scotland Yard. He was covered in blood and innards: thankfully not his own.

  “Inspector, all due respect, this is the last case I take for you,” Angelica said, wrinkling her nose at the stench of decay that permeated the area.

  She’d been alerted that there were disturbed gravesites popping up randomly in cemeteries in London, and Linwood had wondered if it was Vincent, stealing the better coffins from the recently deceased.

  None of the graves that had been disturbed were older than two months, but alas, it didn't look like it was Vincent, as the coffins were still buried, but the bodies were missing.

  Angelica figured it was an errant ghoul or two, and had agreed when Linwood had asked her to help him out.

  When the graves at Camberwell Cemetery began trembling all at once, the Yard had been alerted, and Linwood had called upon Angelica. Once they got to the cemetery, the graves were no longer shaking as much as erupting from underground as the corpses began clawing their way out from six feet under.

  “You’ve got to be joking,” Angelica had gasped.

  “Bloody Hell, Cross, if this is a joke no one is laughing,” Linwood had replied, his eyes wide and unblinking.

  “This is a voodoo legend, is it not? The Haitian zonbi?” she said. “I suppose it’s not a legend any longer. Headshots, Linwood. The more bullets in their brains, the better the chance is they don’t get up again.”

  Angelica cocked her gun, a Chamelot-Delvigne imported from France, and fired at the first head that appeared above the earth. Brains and rotted flesh splattered all over the ancient headstone and the unusually bright green grass with a somehow satisfying sound.

  She smirked. This wasn’t going to be so bad, was it? At least, until they had to find the source that had raised the dead.

  She advanced, checking that she wasn’t about to step on a rising corpse and shot at the next head that peeked above the surface.

  “Cross — the caretaker!” Linwood cried.

  Angelica turned, not even thinking about the workers, figuring that if anyone had been there, they had left after alerting the police to the situation. The caretaker was in the clutches of a zonbi, this one a woman with brittle grey hair that reached the small of her back, clad in a raggedy grey dress. Her skin was sloughing off in some places, including at her jaw. Angelica could see right through into her mouth.

  Which wasn’t ideal, as the woman took a large bite out of the meaty part of the caretaker’s shoulder. She could see as the zonbi masticated the bloody flesh and wanted to vomit at the ghastly sight.

  Linwood started toward the man and she called, “Stop! It’s too late: one bite and he’s lost to us! Just shoot them.”

  But Linwood was as stubborn as every man she’d come to work with and he advanced anyway, catching the caretaker as the woman dropped his body. Angelica could see the zonbi curse infesting the wound already, turning it into decay.

  The caretaker’s eyes snapped open as he spied Linwood and he snarled like a mad dog. Linwood took two steps back, fear flitting through his eyes. He fumbled for his gun’s safety, and the caretaker and the woman
were on him. He flailed, yanking himself out of their grasp and shooting the woman first.

  She dropped to the ground like a sack of grain, but the bullet aiming for the caretaker missed.

  “Linwood, move to the right!” Angelica called. She fished a knife from her waistcoat pocket and threw it, embedding the silver into the zonbi’s guts. Linwood’s clothes were sprayed with fresh blood, but it slowed the caretaker down enough so that Linwood could kill him, too.

  “Retreat!” Angelica cried, as one by one each grave blew open, revealing snarling, hungry, infectious corpses. She managed to kill four more as they ran into the church for cover.

  Which brought them to the point where Angelica wanted to strangle her partner, and he was half in shock, half disgusted.

  “Give me another clip,” she told him. “I counted fifty graves. We cut down seven. So forty-three zonbis are headed our way. They’re slow, but they’re deadlier than any werewolf. Don’t get their blood in any orifice or open wounds.”

  Linwood nodded, tossing a clip of bullets to her. “Are you ready?”

  She nodded. “And next time, if I tell you to cease your actions, will you bloody listen to me?”

  The first zonbi reached the threshold, snarling and snapping. With one hand, Angelica slammed the door in its face, knocking it backwards with a sickening crack as the bones in its face broke. Buying them a few precious seconds, she and Linwood stood in the open doorway and began to shoot at each zonbi in turn.

  In a few minutes, the walkway was littered with rotting corpses and splattered brains, in which bullets glittered dully in the moonlight.

  Angelica surveyed the dead, wondering how they were going to clean this up and disinfect the ground so that no human accidentally ingested zonbi blood and brains, thus turning them into the mindless Undead.

  When she broached the question to Linwood, he replied, “How can I organize anything like that without being questioned by Parliament? Not even Mahon Quinn can authorize that without arousing suspicion.”

  How indeed, Angelica had wondered, the first idea for the PID sparking in her mind at that moment, though she didn’t realize it then.

  They made their weary way back to the Yard, Linwood trying to get everything organized for a cover-up and cleanup.

  As soon as they entered his office, a young officer burst in.

  “Inspector, you had asked for me to gather reports from Parliament about a specific murderer?”

  Linwood nodded, while Angelica felt her heart rate speed up. It couldn’t be a lead, after all these years, could it?

  “Well, there’s something. Three women found dead, their corpses withered and bloodless. But it’s not here. The report came from the Colonies.”

  “You mean America?” Angelica asked, forgetting that she technically had no authority at the Yard.

  The officer nodded. “Yes, ma’am. It came from Chicago, Illinois.”

  Chicago, Illinois

  January, 1881

  Oh, it’s so cold, was Angelica’s first thought as she stepped off the train she’d taken from New York to Chicago. Despite being a vamplet and not as susceptible to the cold as humans or werewolves, the bitter chill still bit through her thin coat to sting her skin. Her dark eyes began to water in the crisp wind.

  She took her luggage from the porter and asked for a taxi.

  “Certainly, ma’am,” the porter said. “Is this your first trip to Chicago?”

  “Indeed. But I might be around for a bit,” she replied.

  “Be careful, miss,” the man said, worry clouding his brow. “Got five ladies your age murdered. Got everyone on edge, it does.”

  “No need to worry on my account,” she replied. “I can take care of myself.” It’s the murderer you should worry about. Because he’s not got long to live.

  While there was no guarantee that this was Vincent, the victims fit his modus operandi, being all young, successful women. Other vampires fed like animals when they wanted to kill. Most vampires didn’t kill at all, relying on human blood donors whom they paid in exchange for letting them tap their veins.

  So the chances of this being Vincent went up exponentially when all of those facts were taken into account.

  Angelica knew she was treading thin ice, traveling across the world alone, chasing after a mad vampire, but who was there to trust to assist her? Even Linwood, who was loyal to a fault, would have been more of a hindrance than a help.

  The taxi let her out at Palmer House, the best place to stay for tourists in Chicago at the time. It was a grand hotel, and reminded her just a bit of Cumberland Manor, her childhood home. But Palmer House was brighter, with more rooms, and had a much more welcoming facade.

  She checked in and ordered for a meal to be sent up to her room, as it had been some time since she’d eaten human fare … or had any blood. When the food arrived, she let the bellhop wheel the tray in and sighed.

  “I hate to do this, but I haven’t time to find a suitable blood donor just yet.”

  “What did you say, miss?” the bellhop asked, his freckled face paling at what he was now seeing: Angelica’s eyes were changing from warm brown to black and red, and she felt her needle-sharp fangs elongating in her mouth.

  It was over quickly. He was too shocked to say a word, and the glamour then overtook him as she bit him and drank deeply. She then healed his wounds and sent him on his way, knowing he’d have no recollection of the incident.

  Angelica ate her meal and then stood at the large windows, looking out over the beautiful city. She could see why Vincent had chosen this place. Nearly as large as New York but far less political and professional, there was a certain vitality here. She could feel it on the cold wind that touched her skin when she alighted from the train.

  Chicago was a city of power and prominence, of passion and pain. Criminals abounded to feed from, and it was dark and narrow enough to avoid detection if you were anything less than human.

  She wondered how many paranormals lived there, and how she could use them to assist her in finding her wayward father.

  The next evening, as the sun was setting and casting a warm glow over Lake Michigan, Angelica went on her first search for him. While she knew she’d need to slow down, that this was a large city and he could be anywhere, she was hasty.

  The police would have the reports of the murders, but first she wanted to check the areas she knew he’d prefer in order to lure wealthy women to their deaths.

  Her face heated even in the sharp cold of the January night, thinking of how many people he’d callously murdered.

  No more, she thought. No matter what, I am going to find you and end this once and for all.

  As she passed a rabbit warren of alleyways and apartment buildings, she heard a scream. It must have been the humanity in her, but she couldn’t let the scream go uninvestigated. She doubted it was Vincent, but someone was still in trouble.

  She ran down an alley and the scream sounded again, closer this time.

  Is that a child? Angelica thought. What kind of monster would attack a child?

  Turning a corner, she saw exactly what kind of monster: a vampire. The woman was tall and thin enough to be considered gaunt, and appeared feral. So unlike the classy vampires Angelica had known in England and France.

  Is this what they’re like out here, wild and animalistic? she wondered.

  “Oi!” she called. “Step away from that child!”

  The boy couldn’t have been older than seven, his knees skinned from falling and tears turning to ice on his cheeks from the cold. Snot ran from one nostril.

  The vampire turned to face Angelica, hissing her displeasure. “Get your own dinner, you British bitch.”

  “Oh, you Chicago vamps are a friendly lot, aren’t you?” she said sarcastically. “I said get away from the child.”

  “Or what?” the vamp challenged.

  Angelica smirked, reaching into her coat and drawing a small dagger from her leather scabbard, twirling it. “Or I send
you to Hell.”

  The vamp hissed and launched herself at Angelica, but she was no match for the trained huntress. Angelica dodged her clumsy attempt to scratch at her throat and with one swift arc of her wrist, the vamp’s head went flying, hitting the brick wall of the nearby building and sliding down like a deflated ball.

  The child had stopped wailing and was watching with fear in his eyes.

  Angelica bent down and said, “Are you okay?”

  He nodded.

  “Do you live nearby? Can you get home by yourself?”

  Again, a nod.

  “All right, just let me fix those knees for you, yeah?” Angelica sliced into her fingertip and ran it along the boy’s wounds, letting her partially Undead blood heal him.

  “Thank you, miss. Are you the police?” the boy asked.

  “No,” she replied. “Just trying to help. Now go, and be quick.”

  She finished her search, coming up empty, and when she got back to her hotel room later that night, she had an idea brewing in her mind. She sent a telegram to Linwood in London, asking for a favor.

  Two days later, Angelica braved the cold winter sun to arrive at the police station, where Linwood had arranged a meeting with the Chief of Police, the leader of the Werewolf Corps stationed in Chicago, and a local arms dealer with Underworld connections.

  Angelica looked out of place in this meeting with three grizzled males. Despite her experience, she didn’t have a scar on her, her hair was done, and her clothes were immaculate. The three men regarded her with commingled amusement and disdain.

  The Chief of Police was named Regan McCoy. The Werewolf Corps leader was Harrison Dumond. The arms dealer was Eugene DiMauro. She knew right away that the Chief was going to blackball anything she said. The general might be willing to listen. And DiMauro would agree to anything for the right price.