Post by Stardrifter on Jul 1, 2015 21:09:19 GMT -5
by
Stardrifter
-Chapter 1-
Consciousness came slowly, in fits. A word here. A flash of light there. When my eyes finally opened they focused on some frayed green stitching on what, I assumed, was a sofa or chair my head was resting on.
What an ugly shade of green. Not that I had any experience as an interior decorator, but I certainly wouldn't want that color in my apartment. Not that anyone would see it.
The world had begun to feel like it was moving beneath me. I closed my eyes tight and fought the nausea. It wasn't the worst hangover I've ever had, that was back during the summer of 2009, but it was close. Pretty damn close.
When I opened my eyes next, after how long I couldn't be sure, I found myself sitting in a chair, my head resting on the arm. So it was a chair. My God that color was hideous. I slowly, ever so slowly, raised my head and wiped drool from my cheek.
"Don't worry, bud. You're alive."
The voice startled me for two reasons. One, because I didn't recognize it. Two, because it drilled into my head like a jackhammer. My eyes darted about until they rested on the man standing in front of me, holding out a steaming cup of coffee.
"Don't take it too hard. You ain't the first to faint at the sight," the man said as I took the coffee. "Well, perhaps you simply blacked out. Not sure which makes a better story."
The man had a Southern feel to him. Both in appearance and a slight drawl in his voice. He was dressed in worn blue jeans and a white tank top. His arms were average size, with well defined muscles and marked with various scars. His face was young and pleasant, with shaggy brown hair hanging down to the top of his neck. The stubble on his face was a little too perfect to be from a simple lack of shaving.
"Where..." I started to say before coughing, my throat dry and hoarse. I winced and reached up to rub my Adam's apple.
"Drink," the man insisted.
I looked down at my hands, shocked to find a cup of coffee in them, having forgotten I took it a moment ago. The throbbing in my head was distracting me from the simple things. Raising the foam cup to my mouth, I took a careful sip, letting the warm liquid coat the back of my throat.
"Ugh," I coughed, my lips curling back to reveal gritted teeth. "Tastes like dog shit."
"Just the way Whistler likes it," the man laughed. It was a warm, friendly laugh. Just one of them 'good ol' boys.' He crouched down in front of me. "You either get used to it or swear off the swill altogether."
Despite the bitter taste in my mouth, I dared another sip. The hot liquid soothed my throat at least. I gagged a little and my stomach threatened to vomit, but I held it in.
The throbbing in my head began to lessen a bit. I looked up over the mug at the man and I had a feeling of recognition. He was fighting against the punks from...when? Was it last night? An hour ago? I couldn't tell.
"Who are you?" I finally asked the million dollar question.
"Name's Hannibal," he said, wiping his hand on his jeans before holding it out to me.
"The real question is," a deep, gruff voice called out. "Who are you?"
Despite having only heard the voice once before, I recognized it immediately as the black man who saved me earlier. I looked over to see him standing defiantly, his arms crossed, behind Hannibal. His trench coat was nowhere to be seen, revealing his muscular arms. His right arm had sharp black tribal tattoos running down it.
The most unusual thing about the man, despite how intimidating he was, was his vibrant gray eyes. I tried meeting his gaze, but quickly turned back to my disgusting coffee.
"Frank Drake?" he asked, holding my license in front of his face. His chest now exposed, I saw the belt hanging across it. It was covered in blades of varying sizes. It looked like something out of a movie. "Well Mr. Drake, care to explain why they were trying to kidnap you?"
"Kidnap?" I parroted, genuinely confused. "I don't...I have..."
"You'll have to excuse Eric," Hannibal said in an icy tone. He rose to his feet and walked over to lean against the side of the matching ugly green sofa. "He's not a very...patient man."
"If I was patient, I would have let them take you and followed you to their destination," Eric grumbled. "You could be dead, or worse, but I'd have answers." He tossed my license and wallet into my lap.
"I don't...what's going on?" I asked, my voice cracking. I leaned forward, looking for a place to put the coffee cup down. Nothing was around me so I finally set it on the floor. "Who are you people? Where am I?"
As I said it it finally occurred to me to look around. We were in what appeared to be a warehouse. Fluorescent lights hung down on chains from the ceiling. At least two thirds were actually working. A number of work benches stood around us, covered in weapons, power tools, and other devices I couldn't identify.
The small living area we were in sat in the far back corner and had the sofa and chair set I was sitting on, a mini fridge, a tiny counter and sink, a rusted out stove, and four metal beds lined up like a barracks.
At the far end of the building, by the large doorway, sat a couple of vehicles. A large Volkswagen van, old, dented, and multicolored due to various replacement pieces. There was a souped up Ford Mustang, black with red rims and grill. Unlike the van, it was spotless. Lastly was a black Harley with flames down the sides and high handle bars.
"You're in a safe place," another voice called out, startling me. An older man walked up. He had long gray and white hair and a full beard. A leg brace was on his right leg and he walked with an obvious limp. His voice was like sandpaper over gravel, no doubt from years of smoking. Probably from the swill they called coffee too. I gathered this man to be Whistler. "And it'll continue to be safe if you answer our questions."
"Look, I don't know what's going on!" I shouted, frustration getting the best of me. I wasn't one to lose my cool often, but Christ. It was like a bad nightmare. Or an episode of Punk'd. Was that even still on? "I was out at the strip club, I went into the alley to piss, I was attacked. That's all I know."
"That's funny," Eric said, crossing his arms again. "We were tracking those vamps for two nights, hoping they'd lead us to their nest."
"Vamps?" I interrupted, but he ignored me.
"Two nights and they kept their noses clean. Then all of a sudden they pick a fight with some drunk douchebag? But rather than feed they try to kidnap you. Gagged and bagged even. Why?"
"Feeding?" I asked, confused and overwhelmed. The memory of the punk's fangs flashed in my mind. I saw him burst into ash again. It was hazy, more like a dream than a memory. "Wait, you're telling me I was attacked by vampires? Fucking Buffy, Twilight sparkly vampires? You guys are insane!"
Faster than I could ever have expected, Eric rushed toward me and slammed his hands down on the arms of the ugly green chair. I flinched backward. Instinctively I raised my left leg up, putting my knee in his chest. Not that it would have stopped him had he wanted to hurt me.
"Listen up!" Eric growled, his intense eyes stared into mine. I looked away. "You saw what you saw! Vampires are real. They exist. And they came after you! They didn't try to bite you. They didn't try to kill you. They tried to TAKE you. So you have something they WANT. You need to start talking, fast."
My eyes darted back and forth between the others. Whistler simply stood there, a sort of amused look on his face. Hannibal put his face in his hand and shook his head. Even so, he didn't speak up or move to help.
"Look I don't know!" I finally screamed. "I've never seen a vampire before! I don't even like horror movies! I-I'm just a guy! I don't have anything! At least..."
Eric raised an eyebrow at that. I looked down, this time out of shame. How could I explain? Before I could decide, the words just started pouring out. "I mean...I inherited a lot. Of money. When my parents died. But...I've already...spent most of it. I had to sell the house. I barely have enough for the apartment for the rest of the year. I..."
Eric didn't say anything. I could feel his eyes on me. After what seemed like an eternity, Eric finally stood up and said, "Well shit."
"This could all be pointless," Hannibal groaned, his voice tired and frustrated. "For all we know they just wanted a snack for later. Or wanted to take him somewhere private for fun. It could be nothing."
I looked up at that, hope in my heart. Maybe he was right. Maybe it was all as simple as that and I could go home, sleep off my hangover, and not have to think about this shit ever again.
"No," Eric's sullen voice stomped on my optimism. "No I was tailing them for a while. They weren't just looking for a victim. They blew by a number of easy targets. They were searching for him. There's something going on."
"Well whatever they want him for, they blew their first chance," Whistler explained. He lit a cigarette, took one puff, then held it in his fingers as he gestured while he spoke. "Element of surprise is gone. If he's worth anything they'll try again. And we got him."
"You're right," Eric nodded his head. "They'll come for him and we'll be ready."
"Fuck you!" I shouted, suddenly overcome with anger. I jumped to my feet, kicking over the coffee cup. "Fuck this! I don't know what's going on but I'm not your bait! I'm going home and I'm calling the cops!"
I stormed off toward the doorway at the far end of the warehouse, beyond reason or thought. I was done, just done. I brushed past Hannibal but he didn't move to stop me. This entire thing was crazy. For all I knew, it was all a setup by these assholes looking for money or something. Best bet was to report it to the police and let them sort this out.
"Think for a minute man," Hannibal finally called out behind me. "You were just attacked by vampires. You gonna explain that to the cops? You don't got any evidence. Hell, you just found out vampires are real. How do you think they've made it this long with people thinking they're a myth?"
I brushed his words aside. Nonsense. It was all a con. Had to be. I've been conned enough times to know one when I see it. "Go to hell."
"That's cool man," Eric said behind me. "We all have to go our own way. But take this." I turned to see a dagger coming toward me, handle first, and awkwardly caught it just in time. "Wood, garlic, holy water, doesn't do shit. Only weaknesses vampires have are sunlight and silver. Remember when they come for you."
I stared down at the dagger in my hands, unsure what to do. The light shimmered off of the silver blade, polished to a perfect mirror sheen. It was then, seeing myself in the blade, that I realized how badly I looked. My hair stood out in all directions. My eyes were bloodshot, with dark rings underneath. I needed to go home.
Without saying anything else, I turned and walked away. Still, I took the dagger with me, placing it carefully on this inside pocket of my coat.
I debated calling the police the second I left the warehouse, telling them I was assaulted and to arrest them all. Heck, even if it was my word against theirs, I'm sure half the shit in the warehouse was enough to get them put away.
It wasn't worth the trouble, I decided. I settled for calling a cab. I just wanted to go home, get some sleep, and forget this night ever happened.
By the time I reached my apartment, the sun was already coming up. My place is pretty small and barely furnished. I've only been here for three months, and I don't need much. Truth be told, I didn't have much left after I sold most of my stuff before moving in.
I stumbled through my living room, which consisted of one leather recliner and a forty inch LED on top of an end table, and into my bedroom. I didn't even bother to undress and simply fell face first onto my bed. Sleep came quickly after.
The sun set slowly in the west. The last beams of light shone through the buildings, giving the area a golden glow. Rockefeller Center, one of the major landmarks in New York City, remained busy with the comings and goings of tourists.
I paced back and forth next to a bench, restless. I tried sitting down, but I would just shake my legs until I jumped back up to pace some more. I was never good at waiting. I like to keep busy. Life's too short.
I stopped to look at my reflection in the giants windows of the building next to me. My long blond hair was tied back into a ponytail, neat and tidy. My clothes were unassuming, just a tight pair of jeans, sneakers, and a green sweater. I certainly wasn't going to dress up for him.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw the sun about to finish setting. I turned to watch, a knot welling up in my stomach. I've faced down death more times than I can remember. I've run into battle, knowing I'd likely die, and not even blinked. Yet this one meeting made me more nervous than I've even been.
"Ms. Van Helsing?"
The voice came from behind me. My body tightened. I took a deep breath, put a blank expression on my face, and turned around. "Janus. I'll add punctuality to your list of traits."
Janus Tepes stood before me in a simple but fine black suit. His shirt was black with a blood red tie. His skin was a creamy brown, making it difficult to determine his racial origins. His black hair was cut short and styled perfectly. His strong chin was covered by a black goatee. His ears were pointed slightly. Not enough to look inhuman, but enough to be noticeable.
All in all he was an attractive man. I mentally kicked myself for thinking it. Yet how could I not? After all, many of histories greatest monsters came in the prettiest disguises.
"I hope it's a long list," Janus said. His voice had an accent, but it was nothing I could pin down. "I am a very complex man."
His smile was both disgusting and inviting. I could see the lust in his eyes. Whether it was for my body, my blood, or both I couldn't say. Either way, it was an uncomfortable look. It gave me the urge to punch him.
"You asked for a face to face, Rachel. May I call you Rachel?"
"It's my name," I replied coldly.
He nodded before continuing. "I was amused by the request. It's not often the descendant of your father's greatest adversary asks to talk. And I must say, you've made quite the name for yourself as well. You've certainly lived up to your pedigree."
God he loves the sound of his own voice. I snorted at his remark. I'd always heard he was arrogant. Comes with being both "pure blood" and the son of the most famous and arguably strongest vampire in history. I continued resisting the urge to punch him.
"And I'm sure the Count would be oh so proud of you, too," I told him, sarcasm so thick he could swim. I almost missed it, but I thought I saw a small twitch at the mention of the Count.
"I could spar with you all night, my lady," Janus said abruptly. "But I'm a busy man. What is it you want? Have you finally accepted you're on the losing side and wish to end your crusade against us?" I didn't reply. I just bit my lip. His mouth opened in surprise. "Truly?"
"I've been taught to kill your kind my entire life," I explained, turning to look away. "I've faced down vampires more times than I can count. I've taken out entire Covens by myself. Never a care at the risk. Never a thought about death."
"What is it?" Janus asked, his voice soft, with perhaps the slightest tinge of sympathy. It made me sick.
"Cancer," I barked as I turned back around. "In the end it's not a vampire that gets me. It's my own damned body."
Janus was silent for a moment, pondering. When he finally asked his question, I could tell he already knew the answer. "So what do you wish of me?"
"I...I've never been afraid of death. But now...now that I know it's coming...I don't want to die." I reached up to find a stray tear on my cheek. I wiped it away quickly. "The thought of withering away to nothing frightens me more than I ever imagined. Worse...because I know there's a cure."
I finally looked up to Janus, only to find him fighting to hold back a smile. It's a battle he loses. He must have been so delighted to have one of his sworn enemies come to him like this. I watched as the excitement in his eyes turned quickly to suspicion.
"Even if I believe you, and you have to admit it's a hard thing to accept, why come to me? You could easily find someone willing to sire you."
I crossed my arms and looked him right in the eye. What I was about to say disgusted me. "Sure I could find any old vampire. But you're not any old vampire. You're the son of Dracula. You're one of the strongest, if not the strongest, bloodlines out there. If I'm gonna do this, I'm doing it right."
It's too much for Janus and he finally boiled over with laughter. He actually put a hand on his stomach while he laughed. I waited, tapping my foot, imagining what it'd be like to punch him in the face.
"I'm sorry," Janus said as he fought the laughs back down. "I just find your pragmatism to be delightful."
"I'm sure."
"And what is my reason for going along with this? Why not just kill you and be done with it? Or lock you away and let your worst fear come to pass? I must say, I'm tempted. You've caused me no small amount of trouble."
It was a fair line of questioning. Why do anything to help me? I felt the corner of my mouth rise, because I knew I had him. "I know more about your kind and your Sects than you think. If you walked in with one of your greatest enemies, the great granddaughter of Abraham Van Helsing himself, at your side? One of you. A vampire. Can you imagine the respect that would command?"
I watched the wheels turning behind his eyes. Until tonight I'd never met this man before. If I had I would have tried to kill him, consequences be damned. Yet now I felt like I could read him like a book.
"I mean if you're not interested I'm sure I could find someone else. Nosferatu is pretty powerful. Maybe I'd even like not having to deal with my hair anymore."
"Indeed." He tilted his head and raised an eyebrow before saying, "You will forgive my suspicion. I have difficulty taking your word for this."
"Of course."
"Very well," Janus announces with finality, a leader having made his decision. "I will have to verify your malady, but I will consider your request. In the meantime, you will come with me as my guest. A sign of good faith."
I took a deep breath. If my father could see me now he'd have a second heart attack. The heir to the Van Helsing legacy, the last of our line, reached out and took the hand of our greatest living enemy. God help me.
When my eyes finally opened, the clock next to me read seven fifteen. I groaned, both in pain and annoyance. My body ached, my head hurt, and despite sleeping so long I was still exhausted. After a few minutes of failing to fall back asleep, I sighed and got out of bed.
The first thing to come to me, besides the pain and discomfort, was the hunger. I strolled through the field of discarded clothes that is my floor and walked into the kitchen. When I opened the refrigerator, the smell made me recoil in horror. All that remained was a bottle of mustard, an expired carton of milk, and various boxes and cartons of left over take out. I didn't even remember putting half of those in there.
Scrounging through the boxes, I found two slices of sausage and onion pizza that didn't have any apparent mold on them and scarfed them down. I followed them up with as much of the tap water as I could stand, which wasn't much. With the booze at my apartment woefully all dried up, the only answer was to go out for drinks.
I almost made it out the door when I looked down and realized I was still in the same beer stained clothes as the night before. A quick nasal survey revealed a body odor unfit for even the seediest dives I've frequented. Besides, I was on a mission tonight. Nothing else to do but shower.
I considered taking the time to shave and decided against it. Dressing quickly in a pair of jeans that had a good sixty/fourty chance of being clean and a slightly wrinkled dark blue button up shirt, I threw my brown leather jacket on and rushed out.
As I walked down the streets of my neighborhood, I found myself unusually nervous. I ended up eyeing every pedestrian warily, moving away to avoid them as best I could. My hand often found itself resting on the hilt of the dagger inside my coat pocket.
Soon I reached my destination. Vibrocity, my second favorite club. I had the vague memory of getting thrown out of Serendipity last night, so it was probably best to give it a few days.
Out of the corner of my eye I noticed someone looking at me. The man was average size and build. He stared into my eyes as he walked up. My breath started to pick up. I quickly reached into my coat to grab the dagger, ready to strike at the slightest provocation.
The man continued to stare as he walked past me, winking as he did. I turned and watched him walk up to another man and kiss him. I let out my breath, not realizing I was holding it, and shook my head. I was being stupid.
"Hey Frank!"
I startled slightly at the shout. I turned quickly to see Donny the Bouncer nod at me.
"You comin' in tonight or what Frank?"
Bouncers are large as a rule, but Donny was large even by bouncer standards. Standing almost seven feet tall, his body was a strange mix of fat and muscle that left him objectively neither attractive nor unattractive, just intimidating. His appearance was also hurt by the ugly and rather obvious toupee sitting atop his square head. No one, especially not me, had the balls to say anything to him.
"Yeah buddy," I smiled. I walked up to Donny, who let me through the roped off barricade, and slipped a fifty into his hand. I smiled at the groans and objections of nearly two dozen people still waiting in line.
Once inside, the club music was beating so loud I could feel it in my chest. I didn't recognize the song, but at this point I couldn't tell one EDM song from another. It's not the quality of music I was here for anyway.
Weaving my way through the crowd, I made my way to the bar. I scanned the area for prospects. A brunette in a low cut top sitting by herself, nursing a drink. Four out of ten. If all else fails, I supposed. A blond in a skirt so short it was barely there is chatting away with a muscle bound roider with greasy hair, unconvincingly laughing at all his jokes. Seven out of ten, but too easy. Two blond sisters were ordering drinks at the bar, shamelessly flirting with the bartender. I decided to start there. Sister on the left was the goal, but I'd settle for the sister on the right too.
The sisters stepped aside, having gotten their drinks and nowhere with the bartender, so I walked up to order. I winked at the sisters as they went, giving them a minute before I approached. I needed a couple drinks first.
"Two shots of vodka," I called out to the bartender. Once my shots were poured, I wasted no time slamming the first one back. It stung on the way down, a feeling I couldn't imagine living without.
I raised the second shot, getting ready to knock it back, when I noticed a woman walk up to bar across from me. Her long brunette hair fell down over her shoulders. To my eyes she appeared rather plain. Her features were pleasant but nothing stood out. She would qualify perfectly as the "girl next door," except for the look in her hazel eyes. There was a fierceness to them I'd never quite seen before.
I smiled at her. She smiled back. It was a cute smile. A good word to describe her. Cute. I would rate her a six out of ten, yet those eyes drew me to her. They were sexy, confident, and dangerous all at the same time. I'd had my share of "bad girls" before, but most turn out to be women with impulse control problems or daddy issues. This one...
The memory of the two sisters faded away and I downed the second shot in one swift motion. As I made my way around the bar, the woman's body came into view. She was dressed in tight black jeans, knee high black boots, and a tight, low cut red top that showed off her midriff and her chest. A small black leather jacket hung off the back of her bar stool.
"Don't think I've seen you around here before," I said with a smile as I leaned onto the bar next to her. There was a small tug at the back of my mind, now that I was close to her. Like I had seen her before. "Or maybe I have. You seem familiar..."
"I just have one of those faces. I'm kinda new to Chicago," she said, smiling back. She leaned in close to talk over the music, offering me a whiff of her perfume.
"Well it's a great city," I said, offering my hand. "I'm Frank."
"Abby," she said, shaking my hand. "You from Chicago?"
"Born and raised," I told her. I left out the part about my family being a Chicago institution. Well, formerly.
"And what do you do here in Chicago?"
"Investment banking," I lied with a smile. "Not very exciting, unless you're like me and love numbers. You?"
"Tattoo artist," Abby replied, before rolling her eyes at herself. "At least, that's my hope. I finished studying under my friend but then we had a falling out and I decided to move to Chicago to start over and boy am I rambling?"
I chuckled at that. It was endearing. "No, no. It's okay. But I'm surprised to hear you say tattoo artist. Correct me if I'm making a horrible stereotype, but I always imagined tattoo artists covered in ink, and you don't have any."
"That you can see," Abby said, raising an eyebrow before taking a sip of her margarita.
We continued to small talk for a while. I bought her a margarita when she finished her first. She nursed it slowly, despite my subtle attempts to get her to drink more. It was hard to read her. We were getting along great, but I couldn't tell if I was making any headway. I thought about moving on, but I couldn't pull myself away.
After about a half hour I began to notice her looking past me. It was subtle, she was good at hiding it, but I could see her stealing glances over my shoulder.
"Is there something going on?" I asked, turning to look myself. "Someone you know?"
She smiled, waving her hand dismissively. "It's nothing. Just...a guy I think I used to know." Before I could say anything, she grabbed my arm and whispered in my ear, "Hey you wanna get out of here?"
I smiled ear to ear. She grabbed her jacket as I led her through the crowd. Once we were outside, she put her jacket on and wrapped an arm around my waist.
"You live near here?"
"Ah, no," I lied. "I'm across town. We can get a taxi if..."
"Nah it's okay," she laughed. "I'm a couple blocks down."
We walked, arm in arm, for a while. The night air was cool but comfortable. I wasn't as drunk as I usually was for this kind of thing, so part of my mind started to wonder how it was going so well.
"This way," Abby said, breaking me out of my thoughts. She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward an alleyway.
"Wait," I said, pulling back on her arm. I tried to peer into the darkness of the alley but saw nothing. I looked over at Abby, trying to discern a hidden motive. "Why don't we go around?"
"It's faster this way," she said as she continued pulling on my arm. "C'mon."
I didn't budge. My feet might as well have been glued to the sidewalk. Suddenly she moved in close, pressing her body against mine. She looked up into my eyes and then moved up to kiss me. At first it was sweet. I could tast the strawberry from the margarita on her lips. Then she forced her tongue into my mouth. When she finally moved away, a crooked smile on her face, she pulled on my hand again. I found my feet followed her without hesitation.
Our footsteps echoed through the alleyway. The daze from the kiss worn off, I began to look around, a small bit of panic setting in. I soon heard other footsteps echoing around us. My heart began to race and my breath became shallow.
"Get down," Abby ordered. My head snapped toward her, the tone in her voice so different I wasn't sure it was even her. She grabbed my coat and swung me around, shoving me down onto the ground between some trash cans before I could react.
"What the hell are you..."
My words were cut off by a primal scream coming from my right. Abby ducked down when a man soared through the air toward her. She effortlessly flipped him over, slamming him into the ground. Light glinted off a dagger she pulled from her boot. With one quick, efficient motion, she plunged the dagger into the man's chest. I screamed as he burst into a pile of glowing ash.
"Holy shit!" I shouted, trying vainly to push myself away.
A woman then ran up toward us from the other direction. Abby ducked under two punches and blocked a low kick with her hands. She countered by swinging the dagger toward the woman's chest, but the woman knocked Abby's attack aside. She reached out and wrapped her left hand around Abby's throat and lifted her off the ground.
Reacting instantly, Abby lifted her legs up and wrapped them around the arm holding her up. She twisted her body and rolled down, flipping the woman over as she went. Once they were both on the ground, Abby scrambled on top of the other woman, put her knee into the woman's throat, and stabbed her in the heart. She burst into ash.
"Who...what...vampires..." was all I managed to say, my mind racing.
Reaching into her jacket pocket, Abby pulled out a hair tie and put her brown hair back into a tight ponytail. She stood up, offered her hand down to me, and said, "Come with me if you want to live."