The Night Beat, From the Necropolis Enforcement Files (2 page)

Good old Monty. I thanked the Gods and Monsters for his rebel attitude. He didn’t like to follow orders but he was all over following me. He said I always landed the best cases. If his parts didn’t fall off on a regular basis, we might be an item.

“Great news.” I was at the end of the alley. No more trashcans, no sign of anything. Murky darkness in front of me. I pointed my gun into the center of it. “This is Prosaic City Police, drop your weapons, put your hands up, and come out slowly.”

No movement, no noise. No surprise. I sighed. I couldn’t risk a look over my shoulder. I hoped Jack was still at the other end of the alley, covering me. “Fine, have it your way. This is Necropolis Enforcement. Drop any non-organic weapons, put your arms, flippers, claws, tentacles, or any other extremities up, and walk, slither, stomp, crawl, et cetera, out of the darkness or be exterminated with extreme prejudice.”

The murky darkness started boiling up and moving. It was still murky and dark, but it was forming into a shape. I stared at it as the hair on the back of my neck started to rise. My nails extended and so did my teeth. Some things you can’t stop, even if you want to. Fight or flight is in every living being that’s got mobility. And even beings like me have a fear of the dark, the
old
dark, built into us.

“Count?”

“Yes?”

“We are in
so
much trouble.”

Chapter 2

“Jack, stay back and take cover!”

I heard him shouting for backup. Great idea, but not under these circumstances. I tried to figure out how to tell him to belay that without explaining why, while at the same time backing slowly to keep out of reach of the monster in front of me.

The sound of large wings floated on the wind and I wasn’t alone any more. “Vic, what’s up?”

“Um, Amanda, I thought vamps had the best night vision and all that.”

“I was just being casual and human-like in my form of greeting.” Amanda Darling was both a vampire and my best friend. She was older than me and sometimes had trouble letting go of the old-speak. “I can see what’s in front of us. Unfortunately.”

Someone behind me snorted. “She’s so cute, isn’t she? Pathetic, but cute.” Maurice swished into view. He didn’t have to swish, but he really enjoyed it. Unlike his sister, Maurice adapted to whatever age and mores he was in without a blink or a twitch. We all envied and hated him for that ability. “What have we here? A big, manly slime monster from the bowels of the earth? I’m all a-flutter.”

“You know, Maurice, a gay vampire is so clichéd.”

“But, Vicki, I do it so well.” Maurice and Amanda looked alike. That was it in terms of proof of real blood ties. Then again, for our kind, blood ties were made as easily as born.

The slime monster was undulating. I didn’t think that boded well for us. “Someone needs to distract Jack.”

“Ooooh, I will!” Maurice said. “He’s so tall, dark and handsome.”

Amanda and I risked it and exchanged the “he’s such a jerk” look. “Maurice, Jack’s straight,” she said. “And he’s Vic’s.”

“Not yet,” another male voice said. Ken Colt was one of the younger vamps, but he was a natural. He did the whole turning to mist and hover invisibly thing as easily as breathing. Easier, all things considered. “But I agree, the human needs to be distracted. Who do you want to do it, Vic?”

“You.” Ken wasn’t gay, wasn’t female, and Jack knew him. He knew him as my ex-boyfriend, but that wasn’t important now.

Ken sighed. “Figures. Jealous to get you back or just chat sports?”

“Whatever, Ken. Kind of busy here.”

“Doing nothing. Fine, fine, going off to distract and protect the human. I think I’m going with mind-control, though. We want all those human snacks sent back to police headquarters.”

“Good, good. Carry on.” The slime monster was forming tentacles. “Count, we’re going from bad to worse.”

“Slime monsters are difficult, Agent Wolfe, but hardly worth the panic in your voice.”

“How about something that looks like a slime monster, but isn’t. You know, something with tentacles and no face and that sort of fun thing?”

“Ah. How big?”

“Pretty damned.” Amanda and I said that together. Because it was growing.

“I think we need to call in H.P.,” Maurice said in a small voice. Maurice didn’t scare easily.

The Count sighed. “The professor is resting.”

“This is his area and we’re not equipped for this,” I snapped. “Slimy here has eaten four of Prosaic City’s finest, eaten two of our snazzy squad cars and, most likely, several bums, hookers, and drug dealers. For all I know he has some pigeons in there, too.”

“Rousing the professor now. He’ll be to you shortly.”

“What about Edgar?” Amanda asked.

“Not his forte,” Maurice said dismissively. “He’s better with the human side of things.” This was true.

The slime monster that was more than a mere slime monster continued to form. I continued to shift into full attack form. Nails an inch long and razor sharp? Check. Fangs ready to rip and tear? Double-check. Eyes and ears altered to see and hear better? You got it. Damned fur all over my body, doubling as camouflage and protection? Sure. Problem was, in this day and age, fur wasn’t camouflage any more. Fur was a sign you were odd at best, and a werewolf at worst.

I was both. I was also out of options. The monster finished forming. It was twelve feet tall if it was an inch, and almost as broad as the alley. I aimed for what was likely either its head or its main organ area and fired.

Chapter 3

“Impressive lack of something happening,” Maurice said nervously.

I continued to fire. I spread the shots around -- up, down, interesting patterns -- to keep the monster guessing. Guessing about where it was going to get tickled next, as far as I could tell. Despite their reputation and my previous experiences with them, the projectiles weren’t working. At all.

The monster raised a limb. A limb covered with about a thousand tentacles that all had awful suckers and pincers on them, but a limb, nonetheless. “Any ideas?”

“Turn to mist, fly away?” Amanda didn’t sound like she was joking.

“Cry like a baby?” Maurice didn’t sound like he was trying to be funny, either.

There was a rumbling noise, and the monster lost a few feet. Now it was only about six feet tall. And dark. Not handsome, however. Neither was what came out of the hole in the ground the monster had fallen into, but I was sure happy to see it.

A thick, long, and altogether huge white worm wrapped itself around the monster, effectively preventing it from attacking. Not from struggling, but you couldn’t have everything.

“Good boy, Rover,” a deep, rumbling voice said. Monty’s head peeked out from the hole. “Vic, only you would find an ancient Sumerian demon while on routine patrol.” He looked around. “Rover, tighter, boy, tighter.” The worm constricted and the monster struggled a little less.

“H.P.’s on his way,” I offered.

“Good. We’ll need his help.” Monty slowly crawled out of the hole. All his parts stayed put, which was pretty impressive. He’d been a lich for so many centuries it was sort of amazing he didn’t disintegrate, though he insisted turning into stone was a bigger risk. Hard to prove it by my experience.

Rover had the monster well-wrapped, but he was only a giant white worm, after all, and his power wasn’t going to hold an ancient demon forever. “Monty, is anyone helping Rover control our monster?”

“Dirt Corps is on it,” he said, rather huffily.

“Oh, good.” I tried to keep the concern out of my voice. Dirt Corps consisted of undeads who weren’t exactly up to Enforcement standards. Most of them weren’t whole bodies, even. Though, you had to give them a lot of credit for willing. Not a lot of credit for success, but sometimes they got lucky.

I looked over my shoulder. Jack leaned against the sedan with the dazed, confused and happy look on his face most humans got when a vamp was exerting serious influence. Ken, ever the multitasker, was on the radio, imitating Jack’s voice and ordering all police units elsewhere.

Maurice drew in his breath sharply, always fun when it was a vamp doing it, and I turned around. To see the monster stepping out of his hole, a variety of Dirt Corps grunts clinging to his, for want of a better word, legs, and Rover draped over Monty’s shoulders, looking tired. White worms were able to adjust their size, and Rover was back to his usual five feet, though he looked a little flabby around the middle, likely from his efforts to contain Slimy.

“Why is it never easy?” I asked no one in particular. Until H.P. showed up and told us, exactly, what to do to stop this thing, we only had one option.

It was time to kick icky butt and take unpronounceable names.

Chapter 4