The Vampire's Curse (30 page)

He had to move. There weren't many places a man could hide in such a small place, but he stayed low as he made his way back to the bar.

No sign of the suspect. Mike strained his ears but detected no sounds of footsteps. He snatched his black Stetson from the floor and returned it to its rightful place on his head. The fact that it hadn't been burned in all the blasting was a miracle. It was his favourite hate.

The hairs of the back of his neck fizzed and stood on end.

"A thousand years and you still haven't changed."

Mike spun and launched his heavy fist at the ratty voice whispering into his ear.

And hit only air.

He unclenched his hand and stared stupidly at the empty space.

Right. The guy had magic. Mike should've seen this coming, but the ability to appear and disappear like that wasn't common.

"You must be a pretty strong guy to do magic like that." Mike called.

A long, pointed shard of wood from a bar stool sat on what was left of the bar. He picked it up and held it close, ready to use it if needed. "Must've practiced for years."

He didn't believe for a second what this psychopath said about a thousand years. Even vampires didn’t live so long. Mike had come across a few crazies in his career but none ever thought they were immortal.

"No matter how many times I kill you, you always return."

Mike spun again, holding the stake out to strike but this time the man stood well out of reach and didn't bother teleporting himself anywhere.

Now that Mike could see him he could say with complete certainty that he was not familiar with him.

The man was short, at least five, five, with thinning black hair that he gelled over his balding head. The man wore loose fitting black robes, like something out of
Harry Potter
. He linked his long fingers together in front of him, staring calmly as though he couldn't see all the destruction he’d caused lying around his feet.

Mike’s body remained tense, waiting for a fight. "Where did you come from?"

"As I expected, you remember nothing. You never do."

He glared and bared his teeth. "My memories are fine. Now who the Hell are you? You're attacking a Griffon City cop. The law doesn't look kindly on that."

The suspect shrugged. "Only if we are in that particular city. I was made to understand that men of the law who hail from cities that do not exist are not men of the law outside of them."

Shit. He knew. Mike hoped this guy wouldn't have put that together. But now that he had, Mike's scare tactic was blown. This was not supposed to happen on his vacation time.

The small man in black pulled a round, fist sized stone from the folds of his robe. It glowed in his hand and he stared at it lovingly. Mike knew it could only mean trouble.

"So many years have passed since she left us. I can still remember her face, but you cannot. You can never understand why we continue with this game."

Mike inched closer while the man in black spoke into the stone. If he could apprehend him, fine, if not, then at least he could claim self defence. Though how he would explain how a scrawny man with a glowing orb and a need to kill destroyed this bar all by himself, Mike didn't know.

"It's the full moon tonight. Perhaps if I kill you while under the moon she will return. I've never tried that before."

She?
Like a vortex that he was being sucked into, Mike was pulled against his will into a vision.

It was him. Or at least, a man who looked a lot like him. The differences were noticeable though.

His hair was longer, reaching his shoulders, and the clothes were old and worn. Practically rags. Medieval. Tunic, hose, and leather boots that were not properly sewn.

He stood in a clearing surrounded by trees in the moonlight. The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen stood before him. She glowed like a Goddess. Their hands clasped together, and the way they gazed into each other’s eyes sent a clear message of their feelings.

Mike blinked and shook his head. Freeing himself from the image. He’d figure out what it had to do with the suspect later.

Mike tucked the pointed end of his weapon away and lunged to tackle the man. A shadowy figure leaped at him mid-way to his target, caught him in the air, and pushed him to the cement floor.

Mike punched desperately. None of his hits got their mark. Could he be that fast? Another punch, and his hand sailed right through the head of the image like smoke. The shadowy figure actually
was
a shadow. Mike was fighting something he couldn’t touch.

Another shadow took the shape of a human, captured his wrist and wrestled the stake from his hand while another grabbed his ankles and held them securely to the floor.

Mike strained his muscles fighting against them until his face burned with the effort. They would not release him, they were too strong for him, holding him down like he was nothing, which was an accomplishment considering his size and build.

"I am your lord Hadrian Vaughan, and you my servant. Struggle all you like, it will do you know good. These creatures can touch but cannot be touched, and they will only obey my command."

Mike hated the calm note in the man's voice. How he stared down at him impassively. He wanted to punch him just to see the reaction. "Then command them to release me before I make you regret it. I am not your servant."

Hadrian sniffed loudly, waving a limp hand at his shadow soldiers. "Take him outside."

Mike was lifted in the air by his hands and feet. His violent struggles were like a child struggling against a parent for all the good they did. "Stop it! I'm not who you think I am!"

"You never are." Hadrian muttered as Mike was carried to the parking lot and set down in the
center. The lot was void of cars now that everyone had fled.

Please God let someone have phoned the cops.

His hands and feet were pressed into the asphalt. He groaned as rocks cut into his flesh and his circulation was cut off. Again, without meaning to, his thoughts wandered into the mind of his attacker turned kidnapper.

He saw Hadrian, in the same black clothes with the same uncaring look on his pinched face holding the same round stone. Though it did not glow this time. He stood over a dying man.

Again the man looked like Mike, but this version was different from the medieval one. He was tall with broad shoulders, short cropped black hair. The tight breeches tucked into leather boots and waist coat suggested that the victim had either came from a costume party, or had been killed in the regency era.

The man turned on his back and coughed blood. Red speckles dotting his face. Mike forgot to breathe when he saw himself die.

"No!" Mike was yanked from his vision when the shadow hands left him. He shot to his feet, ready to fight but was blinded by a piercing light in his eyes.

"Come on!" A woman's voice screamed to him. Though red spots colored his eyes he followed the sound of her voice. A hand grabbed his shoulder, stopping him. Through his leather jacket he felt small, feminine fingers and knew not to attack.

He forced his eyes to squint open wider. At first he could only make out a small black silhouette, then a curly head of blonde hair as his vision returned, and he recognized the woman from the bar.

She had a powerful, huge flashlight in her hand and was directing its beam at the shadow men.

They advanced, she hit them with the light, they retreated. They advanced, she hit them with the light, and the dance went on like that.

"Who are you?" He demanded.

"Don't you sound grateful. I'm the one saving your ass!"

Mike's eyes searched for Hadrian.

“He killed me. I saw him kill me.” But no, it was impossible. The man in the vision was a look-alike.

Mike was going to bring that weasel-faced warlock to justice for it.

“He killed you? What did you say?”

Mike ignored her. He hadn’t realized he spoke out loud.

Hadrian struggled on his back, clawing, twisting, and fighting against the jaws of a grey wolf and too distracted by the teeth to use his magic.

The glowing orb was thrown from his hands in the struggle. Mike ran away from the safety of the girl with the powerful flashlight and snatched it up.

"Thanks pal." He ducked as one of the shadows leaped for him. Hadrian screamed his rage, but Mike ignored him, too busy dodging the rest of the shadows like a football player until he made it back beside his rescuer.

An arrest would have to wait until he could figure out how to get beat those shadows.

"Are you crazy? What did you leave for?" she screamed, still fighting against the onslaught of shadow men who got back up as soon as she knocked them down.

He couldn't explain it, but if the stone in his hand had something to do with Hadrian's power to kill then he had to take it. "I went to get this."

He put the rock under her nose, and she froze the second her eyes landed on it.

It still glowed in his hand, but when he looked to see what had her so transfixed he saw the crescent moon engraved in the round orb.

One of the shadows slinked up to her side. She was so drawn to the stone that she didn't see it. Mike did see it, and he grabbed her arms and thrust her around so the beam of light hit the creature. The shadow disintegrated as though it had been melted with a laser.

Her chest heaved like she’d just ran a marathon. "Thanks." She breathed.

"Anytime."

The screech of tires drew them from the fighting as a red truck fishtailed through the small army of shadows, temporarily dissipating them. It stopped directly in front of Mike and his new best friend.

Before the driver flashed on the high beams, Mike caught sight of the red haired kid with the dragon tattoo.

He stuck his head out the window. "Get in!"

The woman ran to the truck and Mike obediently followed. He put it back in drive and yelled out the window again. "Westley! Get over here!"

He started to drive before the silver wolf jumped from his victim. But he managed to run fast enough that he jumped into the back of the truck before they turned the corner.

The red head checked behind him to make sure the wolf named Westley was securely in place before hitting the gas, shooting them well over the speed limit. "We need to get out of here. Who was that guy?" As if remembering that Mike was in the truck with them, he stared at him. "And who are you?"

"Look, I don't want any trouble. I don't even know who that was." He searched for the moon rock again to show him, ask if they knew what it was since they were obviously paranormal and one was definitely a werewolf. But he didn't have it.

Where did …?

He looked up as the woman smashed the rock into his head. A flash of white blinded him before it was replaced with black.

He hadn’t entirely passed out when she said: "I think I know who they are. Take us home."

"Whatever you say, princess."