Underground Vampire (28 page)

 Prunella came out of the
tunnel and into the gloom.  Overhead, traffic rumbled across the
bridge.  Leaving the mansion, she’d dropped into the tunnels not far from
home, ostensibly checking the troops.  She’d flashed up and down tunnels
and corridors, jinking unpredictably to throw off anyone taking an interest in
her whereabouts.  Twice she’d abruptly reversed, sensing watchers. 
Finally, she ducked into an abandoned drainage pipe off a utilities junction
near Westlake.  Emerging, she waited off to the side; anyone following
would have to come through or lose her. 

Patient, she waited in the light
rain until a slight scratching sounded from the pipe.  Round concrete, the
pipe was a perfect sound chamber focusing the slightest sound, amplifying and
directing the waves towards her.  Poised, she gathered for the
strike.  From the pipe scurried two sewer rats, disgusting
creatures.  Seeing her they stopped, whiskers twitching.  Then one,
afraid no doubt, turned and ran back into the tunnel while the other bolted
into the brush.  Satisfied that no one followed, she continued along the
canal confident she was alone. 

Meetings were dangerous.  The
game was dangerous, but for an ambitious girl risk was unavoidable; the trick,
as she saw it, was keeping her lies straight.  Eventually, there would be
a winner and a loser and she intended to be a winner, which meant there had to
be a loser, a lot of them, in fact.   Over the last few decades she’d
made a list and added to it when circumstances suggested she would be better
off with someone else dead. 

The Town car rolled to a stop next
to a stand of blackberry brambles.  Two taps of red brake lights and the
motor shut off and the car stood, a reassuring block of Detroit
rectitude.  She waited a moment before approaching from the front looking
into the compartment, reassured at Jason’s albino visage in the sea of black
leather.  He held his hands open in the universal sign of all clear as she
stepped past the impressive grill.  Jason pressed the button unlocking the
passenger side door.  Ignoring him, she strode to the back right rear and
rapped her knuckles on the window.  After a moment, he unlocked the rear
door and she pulled the door open, careful to stand behind the massive door as
she swung it open.  After satisfying herself that nothing unpleasant
lurked in the back seat, she shut the door, opened the front door and slid into
the front seat of the cavernous Lincoln.

“Feeling paranoid?” laughed Jason.

“Yes.”

Jason made no reply except to keep
his hands visible on the steering wheel.  She held hers in her lap. 
Both measured distances and angles in case negotiations should falter and
discussions by other means become necessary.

“Malloy has been able to track your
activities and has an idea where you are going next.”

“Where might that be?”

Without another word, she handed
him a diagram of the city with red x’s marking a trail from the Underground controlled
by Oliver out into the suburbs.  He studied it and after a moment said,
“He is correct; we really must do something about him.”

 “They will concentrate their
forces in this area, to ambush you.”

“So we will go elsewhere.

“No, you will go to here,” Prunella
tapped her fingernail on the map, “and forewarned, you can kill Arabella.”

Jason studied the map and, almost
as an afterthought, said, “Yes, with Petru gone and Arabella eliminated, only
the Captain of the Guard would remain to protect the Queen.  What about
her?”

“Her, you don’t have to worry
about, so long as you do your part.”

“My part seems always to be the
dangerous part,” said Jason, adjusting the rear view mirror to a different
angle.

“What’s the matter,” Prunella
asked, looking about.

“I keep seeing things.”  Jason
unlocked the doors and they simultaneously popped out of the car and flashed to
the sides. Nothing moved and there was no one lurking about. A rustling came
from the dense stand of prickly canes.  “There’s something in there,” she
laughed, “go ahead.”

Jason grimly poked about for a
moment.  There was no possibility that a Human or a Vampire could
penetrate the thick thorny stand.  “Something is eating the berries,” was
all he said, as they returned to the warmth of the car.

“When this is over there is no
telling who will be in charge and what they will be in charge of,” said
Prunella, staring out the windshield at the light mist drizzling down.

Jason said nothing, suddenly
absorbed in the drops accumulating on his windshield like it was a new
phenomenon.

“There should be enough room for
two I’d think.”

“Two, you say,” was his response.

“That’s right,” she replied,
turning to look into his eyes, “just two.”

“Right now I count at least five,”
he replied watching the stand of wild blackberries.  Holding his hand
between them he listed them, “me, you, Arabella, Oliver and her Highness your
Queen.”

“We need to start whittling the
list down.”

“Agreed,” said Jason, “we start
with Arabella.  You get her there, we’ll take her out.

“While you’re at it, be sure and
get her Humans.”

Jason laughed and unlocked the
doors, “Off you go, I’ve a trap to plan.”

Again in the tunnel she crouched,
trying to keep the muck from ruining her boots.  She was growing sick of
the cramped spaces, the musty dirty smells, the incessant dripping.  Long
hours and days of trench warfare, the constant bickering with Prunella over
tactics had worn her down.  Not since she was a girl in France had she
lived such a complicated, dirty existence.  She found herself secretly
longing for a return to her life as a freelance assassin, free to live where
she chose, no more meetings, no complaining Vampires. 

Watching the tunnel, she wondered
if she could extract Jesse from his life and reinvent herself somewhere to be a
housewife as he grew old.  Of course, the places she could land were
limited, no major cities, hell not even minor cities, and no foreign countries
except the crazy places where no one wanted to live.  It would have to be
somewhere Jesse could be happy; he would live for another forty or fifty years
and she couldn’t see him sitting in the mountains of Idaho for that long. 
It wouldn’t affect her; she’d just put the rest of her life on hold, pay the
bills through her surrogates, then pick up her life after he was gone.

Thinking it through was
depressing.  She didn’t know if it was because of the sewage she was
standing in or the thought of hiding for decades, but she was not happy. 
Somehow, she had to end this dispute in a way that left her a way out, and the
only ending she could see was ending Oliver and perhaps, if Malloy was right,
Prunella.  No matter how she turned it sitting in the dark, dank tunnels
with nowhere to go, she was here to the end.  If the end went against the
Queen, she’d be lucky to get out with Jesse.

She’d taken to dressing even more
extravagantly than normal, perhaps a reaction to her fading life.  She was
the only Vampire she knew who missed the day, missed the light and craved the
sun.  Always in her travels and in her life she’d forced herself to
experience the light every day.  Even in the times when she’d been injured
and forced to sleep in the dirt to aid recovery, she’d returned as soon as possible
to the sun, experiencing the pain as skin burned and eyes felt filled with sand
until her continued efforts forced adaptation and remnants of her Human self
emerged. 

Today she, like all the forces,
wore all black, the better to sink into the background.  Her only
concession to fashion was the Chanel boots with the perfectly tapered 5 inch
heel she’d tucked her leggings into. 

Checking quickly, she saw Jesse in
his accustomed place guarding her behind.  Laughing to herself, she drew
the ire of Prunella and her guards all poised to strike the decisive blow if
the damn rebels would just show up, as Malloy predicted. 

She’d set up her group in a classic
ambush, choosing the kill zone with care.  Arranging the team in the L
ambush fitted perfectly with the terrain.  The wall to one side of the
tunnel was eroded, creating an unseen swale where the attack team could conceal
itself.  The passageway bent ninety degrees around an old drainage
culvert, providing a natural stop and spot where the base of the L, equipped with
heavy weapons, could conceal and enfilade the enemy.  A squad of fighters
hidden farther down the tunnel would prevent retreat and escape.  First
the base would open fire, all thoughts of proper Vampire battle long gone,
stunning as many as possible, then the long side would drop down, administering
the coup de grace and dispatching any not injured in the initial volley. 

Prunella was at the base, as far
away as she could put her and still keep her at the ambush.  After
nominating Arabella to lead the force, Prunella had then lobbied to be included
on the team.  Finally, the Queen suggested that she be included, so there
she was.  Arabella wondered at her game and placed her in a spot of least
exposure discreetly watched by trusted Vampires.  Still, she was disturbed
about the politics and couldn’t reconcile why, with Prunella’s ambitions, she
had nominated her to lead the company.

Settling down to wait, Arabella
leaned against the rough dirt wall.  Suddenly, without warning, the
forward elements of the rebel force appeared in the kill box.  She
wondered where the forward scouts were and why they hadn’t signaled the
approach.  The rebels came on and it was apparent that Malloy was right,
they were out in force. The only thing that could go wrong was if one of her
people jumped the gun before the entire rebel group was in the box. 
Checking again on Jesse, she saw that he was focused on the intruders and
awaiting the attack signal.  She would keep him behind her, safe while she
dispatched the enemy.  At any moment, Prunella’s team would open fire and
the battle would begin.

A loud clamor came from behind
Prunella’s group and in that instant Arabella knew something was drastically
wrong.  The rebels turned and stormed toward Arabella’s position,
obviously aware of their presence.  A rebel group engulfed the base of the
L, destroying her Vampires, continuing to attack up the corridor. 
Directing those to her left to stop their advance, she saw Prunella at the
rebels’ head decapitating one of her Vampires.  She realized too late that
the rebels had flipped the ambush and she and her Vampires were the ones in the
box. 

The only way forward was to
preserve cohesion and fight their way out.  It appeared that all the
rebels were in the tunnel now and, if she pushed, perhaps they could flank them
on the other end and escape up the tunnel.  Turning to sound retreat, she
saw Jesse join the group fighting Prunella’s advance.  The group would
provide the cover necessary for her to escape, but she couldn’t abandon Jesse so,
dropping to the floor of the tunnel, she went toward Jesse just as Prunella,
flashing forward, grabbed him around his neck and hoisted him over her head
above the battle swirling around her.

“Arabella,” screamed Prunella, “I
have your Human.”

“So you do, Prunella,” replied
Arabella, edging closer.  In her hand was her katana and two more steps
would get her within striking distance, a fact not lost on Prunella. 
“Drop the sword or I crush his throat.” Prunella applied enough pressure so
that Jesse’s face went purple.

Arabella stopped and placed her
favorite sword carefully on the ground then, standing, held her hands palm
up.  Behind her, the battle continued unaware.  Prunella barked to
her followers to seize Arabella, all the while shaking Jesse like a doll so
that Arabella thought his neck might snap.  As a rebel moved forward,
Arabella took one quick step and launched a front kick.  Her hop step
raised her high enough that she could drive the pointed heel of her boot into
the center of Prunella’s forehead.  Her boot maker had inlaid a bit of
silver into the heel taps so that the spike ignited Prunella’s brain like a
Roman candle, shooting balls of flaming brain jelly down the corridor. 

Both sides temporarily suspended
combat while they dodged the napalm-like projectiles bouncing from the walls
and ceilings.  One rebel, caught unawares, turned into a careening fiery
blob, instantly igniting.  He ran down the tunnel like a Vampire torch,
setting fire to friend and foe alike till the tunnel was filled with flame and
smoke and burning Vampires, making navigation impossible.  Driven back
with the others to escape the confusion and flames, Arabella rallied the
remaining members of her company, pointing them toward the other end where they
could escape.

Arabella had one thought: to save
Jesse from the chaotic conditions of the tunnel.  Scooping her katana from
the ground she hacked at the Vampires blocking her way, fighting to where he
lay crumpled on the ground.  Pushing her way forward when she could, hacking
a passage when she must, she closed on the end where the rebels had appeared,
surprising the ambush.  Jesse was no longer on the floor and she hoped
he’d managed to crawl off in the pandemonium. 

Reaching the end of the corridor at
the drainage culvert, a team of rebels confronted her, barring her
passage.  These seemed fresh, not involved in the main fighting. 
Raising her katana she advanced, slashing quickly to push them back. 
Their numbers hindered them in the close passage as they clumped together,
unable to avoid her.  Coming around the culvert, she recognized Jason’s
blond hair fleeing down the tunnel with Jesse slung over his shoulder.

There was nothing to it but the
wait.  After the debacle in the tunnel, the Queen invited her to attend a
formal reception congratulating her on exposing the traitorous Prunella. 
Malloy was there wearing a tuxedo, waiting in attendance like a member of the
Court or, more accurately, she was beginning to see, the head of
Intelligence.  Seeing him, the pieces fell into place and she knew she’d
been a player on the board, manipulated and used in their scheme that was as
much about cleaning out the traitors inside as Oliver outside.

Standing on the rug listening to
the Queen prattle on, she wondered if Oliver’s escape was a cog in the wheel of
a bigger plan, a scheme she could barely glimpse.  She didn’t really care,
the only thing she wanted was to go after Oliver and find Jesse, either find
him or settle the score.  The Queen concluded her remarks with a
suggestion that Arabella take a well-earned vacation, perhaps travel, maybe a
visit to the other Clans in these troubled times to demonstrate that all was
well in the Northwest. 

All the Vampires in attendance
politely clapped their hands, no doubt relieved at the news she would be
leaving the City for a while.  Arabella opened her mouth to ask about
Oliver and the remnants of the rebellion and, most important to her at least,
about Jesse.  Malloy, astute as ever, rose to his feet and escorted her
from the room and down the stairs before she could voice her concerns. 

“Not now,” was all he said when she
demanded an explanation. 

“Alright, when,” she’d replied, as
he guided her out the front door and into his car parked, she noticed, so that
he could exit the grounds without delay.  For a brief moment, she thought
this might be her last ride, that Malloy might be delivering her to her
death.   Noticing her distress, Malloy calmly said, “Relax, I wanted
to get you out of there before you did something rash.”  He said nothing
on the drive down Queen Anne and across Western.  Ignoring the No Parking
signs, he put the Crown Vic in front of her building and hopped out,
suggesting, “Let’s talk.”  

It wasn’t much of a conversation;
Malloy talked, she listened.  When it was over she was on the sidewalk
watching the Crown Vic roll off.  She understood that she wasn’t needed
any longer, that she wasn’t being banished but that her services weren’t
required at the moment.  Handing her a one way ticket, Malloy recommended
a suite at the Grosvenor London hotel, telling her that it was all taken care
of and mentioning that an envelope would be at the desk to cover miscellaneous
expenses. 

She went up to her apartment to
wait.   It was a familiar wait, some would call it hiding and it
was.  She didn’t need the Queen messing about in her plans, interfering in
furtherance of her and Malloy’s schemes.  Their plans meant nothing to her
except how they would affect her.  Twice someone, Vampires both times,
knocked at her door and she ignored it both times.  Checking on her they
were.

The Big Indian had supplied her a
double, a beauty with long black hair from his home. Dressed from her closet,
she looked enough like her to travel on her passport.  The only good thing
about airport security is that it prevented watchers from entering the terminal
and following the double to the gate.  Arabella spotted the watchers at
the curb as the car dropped her at Tom Bradley.  She admired her outfit
and thought for a moment it might look better on her, and decided to gift her
with a wardrobe when this was over.  In London, she checked into the
hotel, buried herself in the suite ordering room service, venturing out at
night for solitary walks through London fog and drizzle.   Arabella
settled in, confident that no one with the Queen knew she was in Seattle.

Through it all she waited, watching
the ebb and flow of light and darkness across the downtown towers until her
cell phone rang with Jesse’s number and she knew that she’d waited them out.

Stepping from her apartment door
she rode down her private elevator and, veering through the Chinese room, once
more admired the Indian heads overlooking the lobby.   Henry, the
ancient elevator operator, reached out and, for the first time in their long anonymous
relationship, touched her as she passed by.  “Have a pleasant evening,” he
said in his professional voice.

He had chosen well, had
Oliver.  Always the clever tactician, the invitation directed her to an abandoned
section of the Underground untraveled by the People of the
Night.    Score one for Oliver, she thought; familiarity with
the terrain would be his.  So long as there was room to freely swing her
sword, she was content to allow him, even encourage him, to be comfortable in
his choices.  No doubt he was even now memorizing the land, plotting the
distance between obstacles, preparing those silly traps he so adored so that,
when she waltzed into his labyrinth, hidden accomplices would spring out, trapping
her as prelude to another of his melodramatic, boring monologues. 

As she stepped onto 2nd Avenue a
bored Vampire loitering across the street jerked to attention and stared, his
mouth open at her.  Crossing the street she marveled at his frenzied attempt
to pull a cellphone from the front pocket of his stylish jeans.  Walking
up to him she seized his phone saying, “Go home.”  She broke the phone in
her hands, handing him the parts.  He gaped at her, unsure of what to
do.  “I don’t want to hurt you so leave.”  After a moment he did and
she continued up the street to the address she’d been given.

Under ordinary circumstances, if
this were her normal assassination, she would, of course, pay more attention to
the details and dance with dear Oliver in the intricate maneuvers of
death.  But Oliver had changed the game when Jason grabbed
Jesse.   On the phone, he’d let slip that he couldn’t abide Jesse
alive. 

Whatever else, if you listened long
enough, Oliver could be counted on to fire every synapse in his brain and, if
you could withstand the mind numbing boredom of him, eventually he would let
slip what he really wanted even, and especially, if he did not yet know it
himself.  And, what he really wanted was to hurt her as deeply as
possible, to make her suffer for his suffering, to prove he was superior, to
show her that rejecting him all those years ago was a mistake.

To do that he needed her alive, a
spectator to his perverse production while he killed anyone and everyone she
cared about.  He had it all planned out, probably public, symbolic,
freighted with ritual so the execution would have some secret meaning known
only to him.  Except the execution would not be hers, it would be Jesse’s,
and that she would not allow.  The good news was that he’d kept Jesse
alive; all the rest of it was bad news.

The message provided directions to
an unfamiliar building’s basement that accessed a forgotten utility vault
connected to forgotten tunnels.  Of course, she had registered a pro forma
objection to his choice of site, not to have done so would have been
suspicious, then acquiesced after some minor argument, accepting his need for
privacy and fear of the Queen’s forces rationale. 

Both were to come alone and
unarmed; she’d agreed to his stipulation.  The .45 was held tight against
her waist by the leather pants, a bit of tape holding it snug.  The swords
were another problem; the short sword she could hide inside her jacket, handy
when needed, but the long sword at forty inches could not be hidden.

She felt them flitting along behind
her, the huge tattooed Vampire and the ponytailed Indian.  Both so
striking that when they wanted to be seen you’d think a parade was passing, the
way people lined up to gawk. 

They’d been difficult to control
during waiting time.  Their solution, simple and attractive, involved
violence, lots of it, applied directly.  She liked it and in different
circumstances would have happily led them to the source of the problem. 
But, kicking down the front door and killing everyone behind it would result in
Jesse’s death.  So Ismaeli and the Indian waited and watched, watched the
Queen’s Vampires watch her building, watched as Oliver’s boys watched the
exits, creeping by at night up from the sewers. 

The invitation specified that she
enter the building from an alley in the International District.  As she
walked up the middle of the alley, the Indian stepped from a doorway, her
katana at his side.  He handed it to her without a word, all of the
argument settled when she’d made her arrangements with him.  He, too,
insisted on accompanying her, arguing that Oliver would not deign to
acknowledge a Human as an opponent, let alone a body guard.  His rationale
was strong and she’d considered the comforting temptation of it for a moment,
only to steel her resolve and reject it.  Believing she would not return,
she didn’t want to leave anyone in peril.  He vowed not to follow her into
the depths. Ismaeli and he stood in the alley, vowing to wait for her return.

She opted to carry her favorite
sword openly in her left hand rather than at the waist or on her back. 
Since she was violating the agreement, it was better to get it out in the open
so Oliver could natter on about her contemptuous breach of the agreement than
to try and hide it. 

This way, she could agree she’d
brought her sword and ask what are you going to do about it.  Her little
defiance would be expected and would quell Oliver’s paranoia; a little push
back would be interpreted as spirit.  The myth he was inventing would be
embroidered since she had brought the sword responsible for the death of so
many of his followers.  When he saw it she knew he would be distracted
with the fantasy of displaying it over his mantel, silent testament to her
defeat.

On the inside of her sword arm she
contemplated, again, the ninety-nine secret names of God minutely lettered by
the men of the Blue Anchor under the direction and guidance of Mr. Finkelstein,
whose last words to her were that her arm and her sword would destroy all that
came before her.  She hoped so, for where she was going the hordes would
be before her, behind her and upon her.   She hoped they wouldn’t get
any of their disgusting crap on her outfit.

Traipsing through the building, her
sword in her hand, she slipped into combat mode. Breathing in through her nose,
holding the air in her lungs for a whole note then forcefully exhaling, her
awareness shrank to the little hot spot at the end of her nose.  She was
present in her life at that moment, and each moment became the present.

Descending into the basement she
extended her senses, feeling for life, searching for the People of the
Night.  Locating the entrance to the vault, her thoughts echoing about
like sonar, she detected nothing and entered the labyrinth, eager for the
end.  Her last superfluous thought was whether Oliver had constructed a
maze or labyrinth, she hoped for the elegance of labyrinth.  

Once in the basement she was
plunged into a desolate place, shaded by light refracted through torn and
broken landscape.  Twisting and turning up and down the dizzying way, she
lost her path and could only continue forward, retreat seemed impossible. 
A maze, not a labyrinth, definitely a maze.  False turns were everywhere
leading to dead ends until she lost track of the way and chose always the way leading
down.

Coming to the curve in the downward
path, an opening in the rock wall appeared.  Whoever had cut the stone,
she thought, was a master.  Sculpted in a beam and post design with the
proportions of the golden rectangle, the opening was inviting.  Pausing,
she admired the work across the lintel.  It was, she recognized, Oliver
plagiarizing from his betters: 

ONLY ETERNAL THINGS ARE OLDER

THAN I AND I WILL FOREVER ENDURE.

“Oh crap,” thought Arabella, “he
thinks he’s Divine.”

“He left off my favorite part,” she
mused, admiring the fine work,

“Through me is the way into the
suffering city;

  Through me the way into
grief eternal;

  Through me the way among
lost Humanity.”

The path dropped and curved so that
she circled down about an open cavern; a grotesque mobile of bloody blotches
dangled from the ceiling.  Descending further, she came upon piteous
people, Humans trapped in makeshift ditches unable to climb from the pits, some
chained to large boulders, which they must drag to move about; others tormented
by cages about their bodies with inward facing spikes. 

Oliver favored gravity in his
design, and as she descended the ramp, so did the refuse and waste from the wretched
prisoners so that the ditches became progressively more foul until she came to
the section labeled ‘public servants,’ where judges, prosecuting attorneys and
police stood to their knees in the accumulated sewage, lamenting, “it’s not
fair,” as those above them heaped more refuse upon their heads. 

Passing a curve she came upon an
odor so foul and penetrating that she could not persist.  Stopping,
Arabella covered her mouth and nose in a vain attempt to keep from retching, so
disgusting was the smell. 

Forcing herself forward, they came
to priests and even a bishop.  All were upside down, planted like bulbs in
the night soil with their legs protruding from the ground like stunted
growth.  The soles of their feet were painted with tar and lit on fire so
that here the light cast fantastic shadows as the pedophiles and their
protectors wriggled like tortured insects.   Thrashing about, they
screamed, “Don’t you know who I am,” as she passed by, until one dressed in red
claimed to be the servant of God himself, demanding that she stop and release
him.

“How long have you been here?” she
asked as he bicycled his feet.

“One day,” was the tortured
response, “the devil did this to me.”

 “Not the devil,” she replied.