The Vampire Hunters (Book 2): Vampyrnomicon (8 page)

Fortunately, Drake faced none of those concerns with Jim. Jim had been thrust upon them three weeks ago by Smith. The kid had been a college freshman with a knack for engineering, and should have landed himself a good job that did not involve exterminating the undead. But a practical joke involving flash bombs that he played on a pack of college bullies backfired, leaving two of the bullies with first- and second-degree burns, and the other disfigured and blind in one eye. The dean was preparing to throw Jim to the wolves when Smith intervened, offering him pretty much the same deal he had offered to Drake and Alison several months earlier—work for him hunting the undead, and all charges against Jim would be dropped. Although a shotgun wedding, this arranged marriage turned out well. Jim was understandably skittish when it came to battling the undead. However, he more than proved himself in the lab, putting his engineering skills to use developing new weapons for the hunt. Infra-red goggles tuned to detect a vampire’s near-ambient temperature. A razor-sharp garrote for quickly beheading the undead. Hollow point .40 caliber rounds filled with holy water. And Heaven’s Fire, homemade napalm made of two parts gasoline and one part laundry detergent mixed with chunks of crystalline holy water. Thanks to Jim, the hunters possessed a technological edge over the vampires that already had saved their lives on several occasions.

Out of the corner of his eyes, Drake saw that he had company. Van Helsing had finished dinner and joined him on the balcony. He sat on his haunches, running his front paws down one of his lop ears, grooming himself. Drake smiled. He patted his stomach and called to van Helsing. The rabbit stopped cleaning and perked up his ears. Seeing his opportunity, he raced over and hopped up onto Drake. Turning to face his owner, van Helsing settled down on all four paws and laid his chin on Drake’s chest, begging to be petted. Taking van Helsing’s ears between the thumb and forefinger of his free hand, Drake began massaging. Within seconds, van Helsing clicked loudly.

The hell with it, Drake admonished himself. He would worry about the undead later. He had more important things to do at the moment. While continuing to pet his companion, Drake raised the cigar to his lips, took a long drag, and blew smoke into the air.

Besides, with any luck the female master would be dead in a couple of days, along with the remnants of the nest.

*     *     *

The darkness closed
in around Antoinette Varela, engulfing her, masking her deformities. She prowled from one darkened location of Rock Creek Park to the next, moving quickly to avoid the street lights. For centuries the night had been her friend, the faithful confidante that abetted her liaisons and kept her secrets. She had thrived on it. Not anymore. Now she hid in the dark, using it much like a shy child hides behind an older sibling to conceal its embarrassment.

Toni growled. Not as part of the hunt, but out of fury. Fuck the humans. All of them. The hunters in particular. They stole the night from her. They deformed her, tore the beauty from her.

For the thousandth time, she swore by Almighty Satan to make them pay dearly.

Toni always had been beautiful. She had used her sensuality to her advantage, which made the hunt that much easier. Many of her prey willingly sacrificed themselves to be with her. Over the centuries, Toni had taken many a virile young man or woman to her bed, drinking of their sex as well as their life blood, quenching her lust and her thirst. Centuries of war with the humans had left her unscathed, even though these pitiful creatures had tried their hardest to destroy her. A failed burning as a witch. A near beheading during the French Revolution. And more gun, sword, and dagger wounds than she could even remember. She had regenerated after each attack, each time restoring her full beauty and sensuality.

Until she faced off against the hunters.

The anger that welled up inside of Toni at the thought of the hunters caused her to involuntarily morph into a vampire. That same uncontrollable urge she felt since the night at Wolf Trap burned inside of her, an urge to kill. No, not kill. To ravage. To literally tear a human apart. To get revenge and assuage the indignity the hunters had wreaked upon her. Only with the greatest of difficulty did she finally control her emotions, suppressing the rage and returning to her human form.

Toni knew she needed to keep her fury in check. She had survived for centuries on her cunning and instinct, by allowing her predatory nature free reign rather than the pitiful emotional remnants of her human past. Over the centuries, she and Ion had faced scores of humans who had decided to battle the undead. Holy men. Adventurers. Do-gooders. Mercenaries. Some did it for religious reasons. Some for money. Some because they enjoyed a good fight. Many fought valiantly. All died in unspeakable manners. Until she met Drake Mathews and Alison Monroe.

The hunters were a different sort of enemy. She had no idea why they were so effective. Their fighting skills were good, but she had fought tougher and more experienced humans. Granted, they possessed an impressive knowledge of her kind. Even so, it could not explain their advantage. As good as the hunters were, they were still only human, and as such inferior to a vampire.

The humans did excel in their weaponry. Somehow, the hunters had separated reality from mythology, and used that knowledge to their advantage. Vampires did not sleep in coffins filled with their native soil; they only needed to stay out of the sun. They could not turn into bats, wolves, or fog. Crucifixes and religious symbols, garlic, silver, and running water had no effect on them. They could only eliminate her kind by sunlight, incineration, staking, or decapitation. Holy water, which was not fatal to the undead, burned like the fires of Hell itself.

And maimed. For reasons long since forgotten by the undead themselves, holy water had a deformative effect on them. Wounds, burns, lacerations, and all other manner of injuries would regenerate without leaving scars. Holy water disfigured horribly. Toni knew better than anyone else because she bore such scars. The eighteen rounds the hunter had pumped into her on the Metro eventually healed, but the holy water the bullets had been laced with deformed her chest and breasts, leaving hideous scars and leather-like skin. Several nights later at Wolf Trap, when she bit the huntress in an attempt to turn her, she had no idea the bitch had splashed holy water over her neck. The bite charred Toni’s lips and gums. In a matter of weeks, the hunters had stolen her beauty, forever leaving her a hideous monstrosity. For that, they would pay dearly.

Especially the huntress.

Only then did Toni notice the tall black man following her. Tracking her, to be exact. More than likely a mugger or rapist who thought he had found an easy mark. She enjoyed those types, predators who took advantage of the weak. They usually whimpered and pleaded for their lives. Toni enjoyed watching them die. Tonight would be different. Not only would she feed, she would vent her rage on this bastard.

Toni maneuvered deeper into Rock Creek Park, moving away from the main paths and lit areas that might provide her prey vestiges of help. She did nothing to tip off her stalker. Only slightly slowing her pace, Toni braced herself for the attack, her senses honed. She could hear him approaching. Could feel his presence drawing near. Could sense his arrogant confidence.

When the stalker closed to within feet, Toni transformed and spun around, bearing her fangs and snarling.

And froze.

A pallid face stared back at her, with a protruding and deeply furrowed forehead, gleaming blood-red eyes, and fangs.

Before Toni could respond, the other master punched her with its right fist, knocking her unconscious.

C
onsciousness came slowly
to Toni. She first became aware of an all-too-familiar sensation. Pain. It intruded on her sleep, a constant throbbing that slowly cut into her awareness. As her mind focused, she realized it came from her jaw where the master had struck her earlier that night. Toni moved her chin from side to side. Pain shot up her head and down her neck. The bastard broke her jaw. She could tell by the tingling that the regeneration process was well under way.

As Toni’s mind cleared even further, her thoughts went back to the moments just before the arrack. She remembered being on the hunt in Rock Creek Park. The mugger sneaking up behind her. Turning to attack him, only to come face-to-face with another master. Then the blow that knocked her unconscious. She did not recognize the master, although that would have been difficult given the brief glimpse she got of him in the dark. None of it made sense. A master never moved into another master’s territory without first requesting permission. So why was this one here in Washington?

Opening her eyes, Toni raised herself on one elbow to look around. This place was a far cry from her nest. She rested on top of a king-size bed in an elegantly-furnished, well lit, clean bedroom. Most noticeable, it did not reek of death and decay. She and Ion had lived in such luxury decades ago. But that ended in the Ukraine when the near complete extermination of Europe’s largest coven by the Soviets frightened Ion and drove him, and the coven, underground. Since then, they had dwelled in sewers, subways, condemned buildings, and a host of other locations barely fit for vermin. As a vampire, she could easily live without human amenities. However, she preferred comforts such as these.

“I see the whore is finally awake.”

The voice came from Toni’s right. Rolling onto her side, Toni saw a young girl approximately thirteen years old seated in a fabric-covered wingback chair, watching television. She wore a plain, dark-colored, one-piece dress that complemented her shoulder-length blonde hair. Crystal blue eyes and cherubic cheeks gave the young girl an angelic look. It was merely an appearance.

Toni recognized the child as Melinda Stanton, the only child to ever have been turned, and one of the most vicious and sadistic masters. Melinda had come to America in the early seventeenth century on one of the many ships that brought the Puritans to a more aesthetic life in the New World, only to find death and suffering. First, when both her parents and older brother died of pneumonia on the voyage over. Then again when William Castile, a respectable elder in Salem “adopted” her. The village rejoiced, believing her blessed by being taken in by a man of God. Castile could not be described as either a man or of God. He was a master on the run from hunters in England. Melinda became his sexual plaything and blood cattle. Her torment lasted for more than three months, consisting of nightly sodomizing interspersed with occasional feedings, just enough to keep her weak and docile, yet alive. Throughout her ordeal, Melinda maintained her faith in God, refusing to believe that He had forsaken her, until one night when she could not bear the agony any longer. Melinda begged Castile to turn her, to make her a master like himself, to free her from her human inhibitions. Castile agreed, and unleashed in her a capacity for evil he could not have foreseen.

Once freed from her pain and suffering, Melinda turned on Castile, denouncing his sins against her flesh and accusing him of witchcraft. In a brief and scandalous trial, Melinda described in detail every horror he had subjected her to, conveniently omitting the part about his being one of the undead and having turned her. The elders would not allow Castile to testify, his mouth being gagged during the proceedings because of his blasphemies. Predictably, they found him guilty of abominations against God and condemned him to be hanged by his neck until dead. The villagers’ worst fears were confirmed when Castile, who was hanged at dawn, burst into flames and disintegrated, a sure sign that God had cleansed their village of evil. The elders shipped off Melinda to live in Boston with a preacher’s family.

The depravity of those months prior to her being sired manifested itself in her own feedings. For decades she preyed on anything, even wildlife and livestock, showing little concern for discretion or anonymity. On several occasions, she quickly departed her town or village because of the suspicions she brought upon herself. Melinda’s luck eventually would have run out had she not stumbled across Chiang Shih. Chiang Shih transported Melinda back to Europe where she mentored the young master, taught her how to feed without drawing attention, and honed her hunting skills. In time, Melinda developed into a dangerous and cunning vampire, becoming one of a triumvirate of masters around Chiang Shih who served as her
consigliores
. However, Chiang Shih could never break Melinda of her penchant for feeding on children and pedophiles.