Blood and Bullets (6 page)
Moving over to the sink, I slipped my shoulder holster off and peeled the T-shirt over my head. Wadding it up, I tossed it into the trash after rinsing the blood down the drain. You don't leave blood lying around in my business if you can help it.
The antibacterial soap was cool in my hands and arms as I lathered up. The warm water ran black into the deep stainless-steel basin, the soap cutting away the dried blood and the gunpowder residue from my hands. It burned a bit as I washed it deep into the fang marks and then rinsed it away. Luckily, being dead, vampires don't have communicable diseases. Well, other than vampirism, anyways.
The priest handed me a large adhesive bandage from the first-aid kit by the sink and took another drag of his cigarette. Squinting one eye, he gave Larson a look over. “Who is this one?” he asked, nodding his head toward the man in the chair.
I took the bandage and slapped it over the bite. “His name's Larson, used to be called Nyteblade. He tried to stake me earlier tonight.”
The priest snorted, shooting gray smoke out of his wide nostrils. “Well, you have been looking a bit pale lately.”
“Hardy har har.” I flipped him the middle finger and opened another cabinet. Reaching inside, I grabbed a 3XL T-shirt from a stack of promo items for the club. It was a black shirt with a traditional tattoo-style pinup dancing on a pole under the word
POLECATS
. The back had the same slogan as the book of matches. I slipped it on and then put my shoulder holster back in place and instantly felt better. “After he tried to stake me, we were attacked by an assload of vampires. That's why I brought him back with me, to find out why he was there to start with.”
POLECATS
. The back had the same slogan as the book of matches. I slipped it on and then put my shoulder holster back in place and instantly felt better. “After he tried to stake me, we were attacked by an assload of vampires. That's why I brought him back with me, to find out why he was there to start with.”
Father Mulcahy's humor died with the update. His head nodded once up and down. The end of his cigarette flared orange as he took a drag. He walked over to Larson and put his hand out. Larson flinched, but then stuck his own out and shook the priest's outstretched hand. When he did so his coat fell away, revealing the large ornate silver cross strapped back on his thigh. The priest froze, staring at it. Still holding Larson's hand, he asked, “May I see that cross, son?”
Thin fingers scrabbling on the straps, Larson pulled out the cross and handed it to the priest. Hands calloused from years of wielding weapons and praying the rosary caressed the surface of the cross. I stepped closer to see what he was examining.
The cross was made of silver and covered in ornate filigree. A masterfully detailed figure of Christ crucified was worked on the face. There were small square pieces of ivory embedded in the four ends of it. Father Mulcahy turned it over in his hands. Along the back was an inscription I couldn't read that looked to be some European Slavic-based language. The words
H
EXE
A
UFGABEBRECHER
were deeply etched in the silver. Under his breath a curse rolled from the priest's lips. His eyes blazed as he looked back at Larson.
EXE
A
UFGABEBRECHER
were deeply etched in the silver. Under his breath a curse rolled from the priest's lips. His eyes blazed as he looked back at Larson.
“Do you know what this is?”
Larson leaned back and gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing. “A cross?”
Father Mulcahy scowled. “Not just a cross, this is
The Witch Breaker
.” He said it like it was supposed to mean something to Larson. “It is a cross that was designed specifically for fighting against witchcraft. St. Augustine of Hippo forged it himself after much prayer and fasting.” Blunt fingers stroked the squares of enamel. “It contains the teeth of St. Peter.”
The Witch Breaker
.” He said it like it was supposed to mean something to Larson. “It is a cross that was designed specifically for fighting against witchcraft. St. Augustine of Hippo forged it himself after much prayer and fasting.” Blunt fingers stroked the squares of enamel. “It contains the teeth of St. Peter.”
Now I could follow. Father Mulcahy is a member of an Exorcist Order of priests, sanctioned by the Vatican and the Pope himself. He holds Mass at St. Augustine of Hippo. Most people did not know that St. Augustine of Hippo is a Vatican stronghold that keeps safe much of its anti-occult arsenal. There is a reason he works with me, it's not just my winning personality.
“Teeth of St. Peter?” I chimed in. “Interesting.”
The priest ignored me; it's okay, he does that sometimes. His gruff voice was full of wonder, like a child on Christmas. “Where did you find The Witch Breaker?”
“Um, eBay. For forty-two dollars including shipping.”
Father Mulcahy looked like he had been slapped. He stared at Larson, who turned red around the ears again and looked away. I reached in my wallet, pulled out two $100 bills, and handed them to Larson, who took them gingerly, as if they were going to bite him. “Here, call it even.” I did not leave room for argument in my tone. Larson stuffed the money in his pants pocket and the padre looked me over, nodding his thanks.
Father Mulcahy has done a lot for me, and it was the least I could do in the situation. I paid him for tending bar, but he gave it all over to his church so they could run a soup kitchen and battered women's shelter. He thought the cross was important, so he needed to have it. I didn't mind; besides, who knew when I might run up against some witches that needed breaking.
Kat's voice rang out from the hallway for us to join her in the conference room. Father Mulcahy wrapped The Witch Breaker in a T-shirt and locked it away in one of the cubicles. After checking the door three times to assure himself it had locked, he began to move toward the conference room. I followed suit. At the door, I stopped and turned because Larson was just sitting in the chair I had originally put him in.
“You, too, Larson. I don't want you in here alone.”
He held up his hands in a beseeching manner. “I would like to go home. I don't know any of you and I don't want to be caught up in your situation. Please, just show me the way out.”
Striding over, I stood in front of him. Planting my right foot between his brought me close enough to make him have to lean back and crane his neck up to look at me. Counting to five before I spoke added weight to what I was saying.
“Understand
this
.” My finger pointed down at his face. ”You may have information I can use. Until I figure out if you do or not, the
only
place you are going is with me into the other room.” I leaned forward, making him crane back even farther. “Have I made my stance on the situation clear?”
this
.” My finger pointed down at his face. ”You may have information I can use. Until I figure out if you do or not, the
only
place you are going is with me into the other room.” I leaned forward, making him crane back even farther. “Have I made my stance on the situation clear?”
Nodding, he got to his feet slowly after I stepped back to give him room. Once more I walked to the door, stopped, and turned toward him.
“And for Pete's sake, take off that silly-ass coat.”
5
The conference room is just that, a conference room. It has a big-ass table and big, comfy chairs; Internet access; conference phones; and a wall-mounted video screen perfect for PowerPoint presentations. I just let Kat put in whatever tech stuff she felt she needed. I can find things on the Internet like most, but compared with Kat I was like Larson was compared with me as a vampire hunter. Mostly I work alone because I'm the one who started all this and I am the one most likely to survive a fight with a monster, but I do rely on my people.
Kat can organize anything to within an inch of its life and can research like no one's business. Father Mulcahy has a lifetime of Vatican sponsored study about all kinds of demonic subjects that he brings to the table. Plus, sometimes I work with other experts I know from this weird war I am in. Even the police occasionally.
When I haven't been too violent.
This room is the central place for gathering information and translating it to make it the most effective tool it can be. If there was a strategy to be had, this is the room it would be born in. The majority of the time my strategy is to just go in shooting, but occasionally I needed a more developed plan than “kill every monster I see.”
Kat was typing furiously and clicking her mouse dramatically as we entered and took seats. I tossed my jacket on the back of a microfiber chair and sat down. Leaning back, I put my feet up on the conference table.
Speaking of jackets, Larson had left his duster and the bandoliers in the break room like I had asked. His arms were pale, freckled sticks coming from the sleeves of his black T-shirt. I would have to scale his height back to about 5'6” also, because the boots he was wearing had about a 3-inch rubber sole on them. They were the clunky, strappy, combat-styled boots that a lot of Goth kids were wearing. You've seen them. They come up to the wearer's knees, have lots of flashy silver buckles, studs, and grommets, and look like they are from the wardrobe department of a bad apocalyptic movie. They are meant to be intimidating, and I guess they are if you don't know any better.
The thing is, they are held together with the equivalent of Elmer's glue. Try one roundhouse kick and the sole of your boot will be flapping around like a blown tire on a car. That's why my boots are a practical pair of German tanker boots. They have a high-density rubber sole that is stitched on properly, thick leather straps, and a steel shank. Designed for kicking a slipped tread on a tank back into place, they are durable, comfortable, and admittedly, do look pretty badass. My boots are all that Larson's boots were trying so hard to be.
The screen on the wall flickered to life and information began to fill it, fed in from the computer Kat was using. I recognized some of the names and addresses on the list as vampire power players and businesses that were vampire friendly. Pictures popped up and started pairing up with names. Like I said before, Kat can organize like nobody's business. She would also have every scrap of information available on the vampires. She keeps close tabs on them because she still hates them after what happened with her sister. Hatred will motivate someone like few other things will.
When she was done, Kat sat back and picked up a laser pointer. The screen was filled with pictures. Different faces of different ethnicities, ages, genders, and time periods. She twirled her chair around and pointed at the screen. A red dot swirled around the screen, circling them all.
Kat turned in her chair to face us. “Okay, these are the most likely candidates that we know about. Still, none of them has the power or persuasion to make fifty vampires do anything.”
I agreed with Kat's assessment. Looking at the names and pictures up there, I saw heavy hitters, even a few major leaguers, but no one who had enough pull to do what was done tonight.
I looked at Kat and the priest. “Can either of you think of what I may have done to get them all, or even most of them, out for my blood?”
Father Mulcahy lit another Kool from the one he was finishing and shook his head. Kat thought for a moment, her tiny chin in a small hand.
“Unless there's something I don't know, you haven't done anything to make the entire vampire community hate you.” She smiled. “At least not more than they already do.”
I waved my hand in the air to show a negative. “Other than tonight, I haven't run into any vampires recently. The last vampire I dusted was over six months ago.”
“That would have been that thing at the zoo?” Father Mulcahy asked.
About a half-year back, the local zoo had a rash of animals slaughtered, skinned, and left in trees. No one could figure out what was happening to them, so the cops called me in. It was a Nosferatu who had made a nest inside and was using it as a hunting ground.
Nosferatu are vampires, but they are the most primal of them all. They cannot pass for human and actually have batwings and rodent hair on their body. They are nasty bastards, fierce and vicious like rabid dogs. That had been a long night.
“Yep, but that can't be it. Nosferatu are the bottom-feeders of the vamp community. No other bloodsuckers would posse up to avenge them.” Pushing with my feet spun me to look at Larson sitting in his chair. He looked really uncomfortable. As my dad used to say before he left this shitty world, he looked as uncomfortable as a nine-tailed cat in a room full of rocking chairs.
Either that or as a whore in church.
“How did you wind up in that alley tonight to meet me?”
A thin hand rose from his lap and rubbed the side of his face. Nervous gestures dominated him. Touching his face, adjusting his glasses, licking his lips. All of them done over and over, almost like a habit. He swallowed and said, “I was listening for information at Varney's when I was approached by a girl who offered to tell me where I could find a vampire to stake.”
Varney's was a tiny Goth club on the southside of Atlanta. It was a hole in the wall, full of all the Goths who were still stuck in the nineties scene. So imagine a tiny room where everything is painted black and red and full of sweaty, overweight middle-agers dressed in black, wearing greasepaint makeup, heavy mascara, and black fingernail polish. I had never, ever heard of a vampire even setting foot in there.
“Did you get the name of this girl?”
Larson shook his head.
“What did she look like?”
Larson scratched his chin. “She was young. So young I don't even know how she got into the club. She had long blond hair. It was pretty tangled.”
“Let me guess, she was wearing a bright yellow sundress?” Larson nodded. I turned back to Kat. “I bet this was the same vampire who sent me to see Larson here. Did you pull a match from the picture I sent you?”
She popped back into her chair and began typing and clicking again.
Larson leaned over to me. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed. “That was a vampire I talked to?”
No wonder he tried to stake me. He didn't even recognize a vampire when he was just a few feet away from one. I looked over at him and raised one eyebrow. “Yeah, it was, but don't worry, she's a pile of dust now.” I turned back to Kat and she shot me a look. I smiled big at her. So what if I was yanking Larson's chain a little? He had tried to stake me earlier tonight, so I was justified.
A picture unfolded on the screen. The face staring out was the same vampire who had sent me into that alley earlier tonight. In this picture she was a smiling, happy girl posing for the camera. My head swam for a second as the memories tried to surface and I shoved them back in their box. Father Mulcahy tapped on the table to get my attention. The scar tissue he uses for eyebrows lifted over one eye at me. He knew how close the picture was to my daughter, hell, he had performed her funeral along with my wife and son, and he also knew how I am about that. To distract myself, I pointed at the picture and looked the question at Larson. He nodded and pushed his glasses back up the bridge of his nose.
“Alyssa Burton, age fourteen, disappeared from Cross Plains, Texas, approximately three months ago. There is a reward of one hundred thousand dollars for information leading to her return.” Kat turned and looked at us.
“A hundred grand is a hefty reward. Are the parents wealthy?” I asked. Kat shook her head.
“From my research, no. Dad is a hardware store owner in Cross Plains, but it isn't a very big town. The reward has apparently come from her family, friends, and the community as a whole. Her family is stable. Father and mother still together, two younger siblings ages twelve and seven. I found pages of hers on a few social network sites and they all indicate she was happy. There are also almost twenty pages on those same sites looking for information about her and offering the reward that was set up by her friends and maintained by them even now.”
Three months is a lifetime for teenagers. If they were still maintaining those pages, then she must have been loved by them. The big reward put up by them and the community was a sign of love too. So why had she gone missing? Most runaways do so because of trauma from home, but this girl was well loved and, by all indications, happy. So how did she get to Georgia as a bloodsucker?
“Did your research turn up anyone in her circle of friends who disappeared with her?” Kat shook her head. Happy runaways generally leave on an adventure, but they almost always take someone with them. “Any ties to Georgia you can find? Friends or relatives in the area? Interests she had that might lure her here?”
“No, she has no family or friends who are from here. There is no reason she would be in Georgia that I can find.” If Kat couldn't find a reason, it wasn't there to find. She is a magician on the Internet.
“Okay. Isn't Western Jim still in Texas?” The blond ponytail bobbed up and down. “We should call him and see if he knows anything.”
“Done and done. I left a message on his phone about two hours ago when I found Alyssa in the National Center for Missing and Exploited Kids network. He hasn't called back yet.”
This was not worrisome. Western Jim was a monster hunter like me. He had been a Texas Ranger in the seventies when he ran up against a Thessalonian blood-cult and had to shoot it out with an ancient entity bent on reinstalling human sacrifices. He was a crotchety old bastard and quick as a rattlesnake with his six-gun. We had worked together a few times when we were chasing monsters and wound up in each other's territory. He would call when he was free, but it might take a bit if he was knee-deep in a hunt. Kat's face turned sad.
“I called Detective Longyard and let him know that the girl would not be found so he could contact her parents. He wanted to know if you needed any help.”
“Not yet. Tell him I will call if I need him.”
Detective John Longyard was the lead investigator on the murder of my family. He is a good man and knows what I do. He is my go-to guy on the police force and helped me cut around them when needed. He gets me information if I need it, gets me into crime scenes, and gets me out of complications that come from having to skirt the law when things get hairy. Or scaly. Or fangy. It was hard on him sometimes, but he did it out of duty to his fellow man. My feet dropped to the floor as I sat up.
“So now we have a newly turned girl from Texas who is in Georgia and acting as a setup to try to get me killed.” I looked around the table. “Anybody have any ideas how to start figuring this one out?”
Larson coughed and cleared his throat. His cheeks burned red. A pale hand drifted over his forehead as he began talking, the words stumbling from his mouth in nervousness. “New vampires don't travel very far, not by themselves. They don't have the control over their urges to feed. From all evidence she was turned in Texas and then came here, so she didn't travel alone. She would have had to have a stronger vampire to keep her in check or it would have been a bloodbath between Texas and here.” He sat back with pride on his face under the flush of his embarrassment from when he started.
So he actually knew a thing or two about a thing or two. That's fine. He had no practical knowledge whatsoever. He had actually sat and talked with a vampire without being able to spot her for what she was. It was a little like saying he had been petting a puppy and not noticing that it had rabies.
“So, we are talking about a new vampire in town.” Father Mulcahy blew smoke toward the ceiling. Kat looked at him shaking her head.
“No, that is not possible. If there was a new powerful vampire in the territory, there would have been a turf war. I would know about it because vampire activity would have spiked.” She definitely would have known too. Because of Kat's past with vampires, she kept closer tabs on them than on any other supernaturals in the area. Hatred will make you obsessive sometimes. “In fact, just the opposite has happened. The vampires have been really quiet the last few weeks.”
A lull in vamp activity? Normally the vampires mind their p's and q's. They are evil, but with the plethora of victims that can be seduced into giving blood, they rarely kill anyone. Usually they stay involved in their crimes and misdemeanors, keeping themselves occupied.
It's almost like a game for them. Because of this, the cops actually keep them in check pretty well. They don't know what they are dealing with usually, but it just works itself out somehow. It also keeps them out of my line of fire for the most part. I am just one gun in a war, so my focus is always on the monster at hand. For an area the size of Metro Atlanta, vampires are almost like a rat problem. They are there, and they need to be exterminated, but you don't see them, so they fall to the bottom of the priority list.
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