The Vampire Hunters (Book 2): Vampyrnomicon (17 page)

“Yeah, thanks.”

Reese held out his hand. Drake gave it a firm, friendly shake, and then picked up the suitcase. Its weight nearly pulled his arm out of its socket. “What’s in here?”

“Clothes. Toiletries. A bunch of books.”

Drake hauled it to the rear of the SUV, lifted the hatchback, and hefted the suitcase inside. Reese placed his carry-on beside it. The two men crawled into the front seats, and a minute later were on their way out of the airport.

“Thanks for picking me up,” said Reese.

“No problem.” Drake gunned the SUV, merging out of the airport exit and onto the George Washington Parkway. “Where are you staying?”

“The Willard Hotel, right near the White House.”

“Sweet. I didn’t think college professors made that much money.”

Reese laughed. “We don’t. This is a business trip, so all expenses are being paid by Salem State.”

“What’s so special down here in Washington that you couldn’t tell me about over the phone?”

Reese shifted in his seat to face Drake. “Tomorrow the Smithsonian opens a new exhibit. ‘The Spanish Inquisition Through the Eyes of Antonio Ferrer.’”

“Was he a medieval vampire hunter?”

“No. He was an inquisitor with the Spanish Inquisition known as the Butcher of Saragossa. He was a particularly cruel but effective inquisitor, fanatical in his duty to purge Christian Europe of all heresies.”

“So how does he fit in with the undead?”

“I’m getting to that.” Reese began talking more rapidly to match his growing excitement with the subject. “According to vampire lore, Ferrer was the last person to be in possession of the
Vampyrnomicon
back in the 1480s. After that, no one ever saw the book again.”

“The
Vampyrnomicon
? That’s the
Book of the Undead
, right?”

“The same.”

“I thought the
Vampyrnomicon
was just a legend?” Drake veered off the left-hand exit ramp that would place him on the Arlington Memorial Bridge.

“I always assumed it to be a legend since no one has seen it for more than five hundred years. But now I have a chance to look at Ferrar’s personal papers and see if there’s anything to it.”

“Hasn’t anyone looked at this Ferrar’s personal papers before?”

“That’s the thing.” Reese became so excited Drake thought he might hyperventilate. “Because of the controversy surrounding Ferrar’s methods of forced conversion, the Spanish Government has kept his papers locked up since his death. This is the first time anyone is being allowed to view them. Only a handful of academics are being granted access to the papers, and I’m lucky enough to be one of them.”

“How’d you manage that?”

“I finagled it due to my academic credentials as a medieval scholar.” A large grin appeared underneath his neatly-trimmed beard. “Of course, I never mentioned my interest in vampires.”

“You’re starting to think like me.”

“I could use a little more excitement in my life.” Reese looked out over the Potomac as they crossed the river into Washington. “So, what’s been happening with you?”

The two men spent the rest of the trip chatting amicably like old friends. Which, Drake admitted, they were. True, they had not spoken in months. None of that mattered. When Drake had first gone to Reese to tap his expertise on the supernatural, Reese immediately recognized Drake as a true believer in the undead, albeit a reluctant one at first. That mutual acceptance created a unique bond between them. The hunter and his mentor. Thank God for that mentoring. Reese had provided Drake with the background and knowledge he needed not only to bring down the Night Stalker, but also to stay alive these past few months. Without Reese’s guidance, he most likely would be one of the undead by now.

Drake pulled the SUV up in front of the Willard Hotel and helped Reese unload his luggage from the back. Reese held out his hand. “Thanks again for picking me up.”

Drake took the hand and gave it a firm pump. “My pleasure.”

“If you can a spare a night from hunting, I’ll take you to dinner. My treat.”

“I think I can handle that. It’s been quiet lately.”

“That’s good to hear.” Reese slung his carry-on over his shoulder.

“Before you go, there’s one thing that still bugs me. What’s so important about this
Vampyrnomicon
?”

Reese looked around to make certain no one could hear. “If the legends are true, it’s far more than just a book. The
Vampyrnomicon
contains all the knowledge there is about vampires. Their origins. Their history.”

“You mean it’s like their Bible?”

“In an unholy sense, yes. But it’s much more than that. According to legend, the
Vampyrnomicon
spells out in detail how the vampires can obtain immortality and dominate the world.”

“Jesus.” Drake began to comprehend the enormity of the war he had joined. “I can see why you want to keep it out of their hands.”

“For that reason, yes. Hunters for centuries have been searching for the
Vampyrnomicon
for a far more important reason.”

“Why’s that?”

Reese raised an eyebrow. “According to the legend, the
Vampyrnomicon
also describes the way to destroy the vampires permanently.”

*     *     *

This is just
fucking great, John Simmons sighed. First, he got called in on his night off to cover for that lazy shit Antonio who had called in sick again. Then he had to contend with the dregs of humanity that flowed past his station like turds through a sewer pipe. It began with the family from Guatemala who showed up at his station with expired passports and no paperwork. Then that Russian dick wipe who berated him for not processing him through Immigration fast enough. Hell, the little Commie fuck even had the audacity to call him a capitalist. And finally, his last customer, that asshole Arab in his white dress and sandals who slipped him a hundred dollar bill inside his passport, hoping to bribe his way into the country since he did not have a visa. Simmons just wished he could be there when his pals did a cavity search on the bastard.

Another glorious day in the life of an Immigration officer. He had been doing this job for close to five years at Dulles International Airport, five years that mixed equal parts frustration and boredom as he tried to stop undesirables from sneaking into the country. Yeah. Right. Like trying to stop a tidal wave with a sponge. But what the fuck. Only eighteen years to retirement. With luck, he would be killed in a terrorist attack at the airport long before that.

Raising a hand and motioning with his fingers to advance, Simmons called out, “Next.”

Simmons looked up as the most beautiful woman he had ever seen approached his station. She was Asian, probably Chinese, and in her early thirties. Silky, raven black hair flowed half-way down her back. She wore a leather mini-skirt that accentuated her tight, round ass, stiletto knee-high boots that high-lighted her legs, a stylish leather jacket, and a sheer white blouse that did little to conceal her breasts. Yet her face attracted Simmons’ attention, for it did not have a single blemish or flaw, almost as if it had been crafted by an artist. And her eyes. He had never seen a pair so stunning. The irises were ruby colored.

She stood before his station and smiled with those inviting lips, a smile both sensual and disarming. “Good afternoon.”

“Afternoon, ma’am. Passport, please.”

“Certainly,” she purred. The woman slid a red-colored passport across the counter with a hand every bit as perfect as the rest of her body. For a moment, Simmons wondered what it would be like to have those hands caress his body.

He flipped open the passport. The People’s Republic of China had issued it for a permanent resident of Hong Kong. There seemed to be nothing unusual about it. Several entry and exit stamps for Thailand and the Philippines. Plus a multiple-entry visa for the United States valid for one year. She must be, or at least knew someone who was, highly influential.

“Is this your first trip to the United States, ma’am?”

“Yes, it is. I’m looking forward to it more than you can imagine.” Her voice was mesmerizing.

“Business or pleasure?”

“Mostly business.”

“I hope you’re successful.”

“Me too.”

Simmons stamped her passport and slid it back across the counter. “Welcome to the United States, Miss…”

The woman took the passport and slid it into her jacket. “Chiang Shih.”

With that one bureaucratic move, the ultimate evil had been allowed into the country.

D
rake stepped into
his office, wishing he would find a vampire lurking in the corner so he could pummel the shit out of it and work off some of his frustration. He had a lot of frustration to work off. It took him an hour to drive the several blocks from the Willard Hotel to his office, a trip that normally would have taken less than ten minutes, thanks to the typical Washington gridlock. He hated the idiots that drove in this city and the traffic they generated more than he hated vampires. At least he could stake the vampires.

Stepping over to a bookcase that also served as a bar, Drake opened the bottle of Baker’s Bourbon and poured himself a shot. Taking the drink to his desk, he dropped into his leather business chair, leaned back, and propped his feet on the surface. The first sip of bourbon burned going down. A good type of burn, though. The kind you only get with the good stuff. A cigar would make this perfect. He had some in his drawer, but never used them. Not for lack of trying, though. He lit one up shortly after they had moved into the office. That lasted all of two minutes before Alison complained about the stink and made him put it out.

But Alison had gone home early.

Swinging his legs off the desk, Drake pulled open the drawer and removed a Macanudo from the humidor, as well as a cutter and a book of matches. He snipped off the end of the cigar, lit it, and propped his feet back up on the desk. The first puff tasted good, especially when washed down with bourbon.

“Alison will have a fit if she finds out you’re smoking in the office.”

Drake looked over to see Jim standing in the doorway. “She won’t find out if no one tells her.”

“Yeah. She’ll never smell the smoke.”

Shit. He hadn’t thought about that. Well, too late now. Drake took another long puff and blew the smoke toward the ceiling. “What are you still doing here?”

“Developing new weapons.”

“You know, you don’t have to spend all your time in that workshop.”

“I don’t mind. I like my job.” Jim became a little sullen. “Besides, it’s not like I have a social life.”

Drake raised his cigar. “Want to join me?”

“For a cigar, no. But I’ll take a shot of bourbon.”

“Help yourself.”

Jim stepped over to the bookshelf, poured a tumbler for himself, and sat down on the sofa underneath the painting of
Nosferatu
. “Thanks.”

“My pleasure.” Drake held up his glass in a toast. “Death to all vampires.”

“Here, here.” Jim took a quick swig of bourbon and coughed. It took him several seconds to regain his breath. “How do you drink this stuff?”

“The cigars deaden the taste buds.”

Jim looked at the tumbler, shrugged, and took another drink. This time he did not cough. “This stuff will kill you.”

“Not if the cigars get me first.” Drake puffed on the Macanudo. An eddy of smoke coiled upwards, spreading out across the ceiling. “So, what are you working on?”

“Since the holy water-laced mace worked so well, I decided to kick up the technology a notch and incorporate holy water into a tear gas dispenser.”

“How will you do that?”

“I’m making home-made tear gas with glycerin and sodium bisulfate. I heat the two until they turn into a gas, then mix the gas with the holy water and bottle it. If it works, it should incapacitate several vampires at once.”

“If it works?”

“It’s not as easy as I thought.” Jim took another sip of bourbon. “I’m having trouble getting the right mixture of glycerin and sodium bisulfate. Besides, it’s still tear gas. It may incapacitate vampires, but it’ll do a number on us, too, if we’re in the area.”