Here Be Monsters [2] (4 page)

Abyssinian lowered his katana but kept the shield up as he watched Thom move to the door. He flicked the shield away as well. This strange meeting was over and he wouldn't trust Thom quite as easily as he had before. "You have no answer. You've asked no questions. And if you're sure Oberon did not kill those elves then why did you allow him to be arrested? Why didn't you speak up to the liaison?"
 

Thom stopped at the door and looked at Abyssinian as he approached. "I have. And we came to an agreement." Another elf came to the door. He was tall like Aby, though his hair was long and blond and tied behind him. He also held a bow and arrow pointed at Aby. "You will stay in Underhill."
 

Abyssinain realized too late
 
he'd been set up. Before he could conjure the shield again the arrow had been let loose. Aby jumped to the side but not far enough. So instead of striking his chest, the arrow buried itself into his side. He cried out as the pain flared stronger and worse than any wound he'd suffered and he dropped his katana. It was a different kind of pain—and reminded him of the time he spent in Oberon's dungeon—

Iron! The arrowhead was made of Iron!
 

Aby felt the poison working inside of him as he tried to reach for his weapon. But he was on his stomach and felt the vibration of boots under him. Hands pulled his arms painfully behind him and he was pinned to the floor. He was disarmed and retching silently as he heard Thom's voice.
 

"I'm sorry Abyssinian, but we agreed that it was best if you never returned to the mortal realm."

"No…" he managed to say as his wrists were clamped in manacles and he heard the chains rattling. "Siobhan…"
 

"She's already being taken care of. I can assume she's the only one that knows—but we can't be sure. I'm sorry, Abyssinian, but we're going to have to get the truth out of you."
 

He felt himself being wrenched to his feet, but the pain of the arrow still buried in his side over rode everything else. Aby wanted to reply but couldn't as he was half dragged, half carried by two elves further into the tomb.
 

Aby realized then why Thom had wanted to show him the tomb—so that none of the other elves that lived here could see them shoot and torture one of their own.
 

- 5 -

Siobhan arrived at Song's apartment a little after one in the morning. His address was a loft in a building on the upper floor of one of the lesser maintained areas of Chicago. She cut the Ducati's engine and coasted down the street, killing her headlight as well. None of the street lights were working—either due to electrical decay or because the bulbs had long ago burned or been smashed.
 

A few cars from bygone eras sat along the road. Light filtered through slatted windows at the top of the building. She could hear six distinct heart beats. All but one was human. And that heart told her it was elven. Aby? Possibly. But it was coming from where that light originated. Inside of Song's place.
 

Perhaps mister Song had company.
 

Too bad. So sad.
 

She braked the Ducati and pushed it into a tight space between the buildings. Perhaps a drunk or kids would see it. But if they touched it—they would be in for a shock.
 

Like… a few hundred volts worth.
 

If there was one thing Aby was good at—it was setting magical traps. Let the little fuckers try and take her ride.
 

After removing her helmet, she glanced around, stepped back in the shadows and then jumped to the top of the building. Her boots landed noiselessly on the roof's edge and she crouched down low so as not to be see from the street.
 

It might take Miller's men a while to find this location. Abyssinian had already scoped Song out and had his address on file in their data-base of "people we want to punish" folder. Song had already sold several gruesome photos on the internet and in print of drained and dead elves, many of which who had maintained a glamoured and happy existence in the mortal realm. Aby felt it wasn't up to Song to destroy that—even after they were dead.
 

Siobhan stopped him from coming to this place several times and putting hurt on the reporter. But now? She agreed with Aby and wished like hell he was with her.
 

A part of her had hoped he would be hiding somewhere and reveal himself when she appeared.
 

No such luck.
 

Siobhan knelt down and pressed her ear to the roof. Yes—there was panting and muffled sounds. He human heartbeat was racing. Song definitely had a friend in the house tonight. Which might explain why he hadn't uploaded his latest shots.
 

She didn't want to bother him
because
he had the shots—what she wanted was to find out who his source was and how did know where to be. In each of the killings since Oberon's arrest—Song was always there. And yet the police could never pin the murders on him because he always had an air tight alibi. He was always with someone when he got a call. Miller hadn't been able to trace the calls. Always a different place.
 

Whomever this was—they understood technology. So Siobhan had assumed it couldn't be an old world vampire—as technology always befuddled them—but a newer made one. And one wrecklass enough to drain elves.
 

Siobhan waited a few more minutes before she crept along the roof to the door. A good wrench and off came the knob. She had no time for pleasantries. The steps down lead directly to a large metal door. A few minutes listening and she knew the door opened on the hall.
 

Two good jerks and it was off at the hinges. She only hoped the rough breathing of Song and his fair companion kept them from hearing all her banging about.
 

With a glance behind her, Siobhan moved down the hall to the only door available. The bricks were covered in graffiti—though the quality of the art was brilliant in her opinion. Art was art. The floor was damaged wood, scuffed and visibly rotting in some spots. She wondered if this guy actually rented this place or was squatting and siphoning off power from someone else.
 

Getting the door open was easy—none of that inviting in crap the books always talked about. But once in, she was assaulted by a myriad of images broadcasted from the two inside. Images of a snowy river, icy waters, and dead trees. And the sun.
 

And she smelled…blood.
 

Human blood. The place wreaked of it.

The vampire froze where she stood just inside the door and listened carefully now. There were two heartbeats. A human, and what she originally thought was an elf's. There was panting—only the panting came from the male—as did a the muffled noise. And it wasn't the pleasant kind of noises.
 

This one was full of pain. And dread.
 

Pressing her back against the wall, Siobhan moved down the hall. On her right was a door which she guessed was a kitchen. On her left another door which could be a bathroom or bedroom. But in front of her the living room opened out into a high ceiling area. She saw the slitted window where the escaping light had been visible below.
 

With a deep breath she peered around the corner—

This was
not
love making. Nor was it anything kinky and fun.
 

What she saw chilled her down to her bones.
 

Keith Song hung naked by his ankles from the exposed steel girders in the ceiling. A large basin caught blood as it dripped from his slit wrists which dangled over his head. The stream of blood was steady, but slowing down.
 

His lips were dark, as if they'd been chewed, and then Siobhan realized in a flash they had—and so had his tongue!
 

"You play a dangerous game, daughter of Bralewyn."
 

The voice struck a chord down Siobhan's back. It compelled her to move forward even though she didn't want to. A few steps closer to Song.
 

"I am coming to you."
 

Coming from where?
 

Siobhan had to do something about Song. He was dying a slow death, with no lips or tongue to speak with.
 

But before she could move another step, a woman was in front of her.
 

And so was the overwhelming smell of fresh, human blood.

She was tall and willowy, very much like Abyssinian. Her hair was long and dark. It seemed to shine with both red and black highlights as it moved over her shoulders. Her white skin was like alabaster under the loft's fluorescent lights.
 

And she was nude.
 

Siobhan could see long pointed ears just peeking through her hair.
 

And her eyes.
 

Siobhan shrank back despite her bravado.
 

Her eyes were completely black.
 

"Young,"
the thing said as she reached a long fingered hand up to stroke along Siobhan's cheek. Her voice sounded in her mind, and to her ears.
"And so very honest."
 

Siobhan shrunk back even further. If she were a turtle, she'd have pulled herself into her shell by now and nailed the door shut.
 

The eyes were bad enough—but what really bent her reality was its teeth. They were sharp like a vampire's fangs.
 

All
of them.
 

It was like looking into a mouth full of needles.
 

And she spoke with a distinct elven accent—but what the hell kind of elf was this?
 

The woman frowned. It was a mockery of emotion because most of her muscles didn't move. It was like giving animation to a statue, only it was still a statue.
"I am Maeve—and you too have a name of royal blood. Siobhan. Oh…you are frightened of me. No need to be. We are sisters."
And with that she turned and walked gracefully back into the loft's livingroom to look up at Song.
 

Siobhan followed, her steps a bit unsteady. The smell of the blood…was overwhelming.

Way too enticing.
 

Maeve reached out and took a wine glass from the coffee table and dipped it into the basin. She turned and held it out to Siobhan.
"Please…will you not drink with me?"
 

The idea…the very
thought
…both excited Siobhan and repulsed her. The blood—it was still fresh and warm. Steam still rose from it.
 

"Neh?"
Maeve said as she reached out and took Siobhan's hand and placed the glass in it. She felt the heat from the blood through the smooth surface.
"Drink."
 

But Siobhan looked up at Song and saw the fear and dread in his eyes. He hung limply, with no strength left in his body. He'd been relieved of speech. And now he was draining away—

Siobhan dashed the glass to the floor and looked at the thing. "Why? Why did you do that to him?" She pointed up at Song.
 

Maeve didn't move when the glass broke. Instead she looked—
bored
. She did look up and smile with those deadly teeth.
"This one would not tell me where the Winterbourne is. He follows them,"
she looked back at Siobhan.
"He is told by someone where they are when the impostors are slaughtered."
 

Most of that made no sense to Siobhan. Winterbourne? Impostors? "Do you mean because he always shows up where the bodies are? You mean the UnSeleighe."
 

"Yes,"
she moved away from Siobhan then and reached up to grab Song's wrist. Siobhan watched her dig a long, sharp nail into his flesh. More blood welled up—though the force of the flow was greatly decreased. Maeve opened her mouth and let it drizzled into it, over her lips, and down her chin.
 

Siobhan wanted to throw up. Yes—a part of her craved the feast. But she was quick and fed only on what she needed. This—this was sadistic. This was playing with one's food.
 

"Stop it."

Maeve released Song's wrist and the blood flow lessoned, but didn't stop. More drops of his precious life's fluid joined in the bucket below. She turned to face Siobhan, Maeve's face coated in red from the lips down to her breasts.
"You do not like? But you are one of our children. One of our…"
she smiled.
"Descendants."
 

Descendants? "You can obviously tell I'm a vampire—and I can tell you're—" she was at a loss for words. "I don't know what the hell you are. But this," she pointed at Song. She had to hurry. If there was any hope of saving his life, she needed to get him down and to a hospital. "This is unacceptable, even in our world. You're torturing this man."
 

"He would not give me the answers I needed,"
Maeve said and her voice rose.
"He knows where the Winterbourne are—I will have them."
She was abruptly beside Siobhan, their noses touching.
"I must have them—"
 

Maeve stopped, her black eyes widening. Her hand was around Siobhan's neck before Siobhan could stop her. Siobhan reached up and tried to pull that vice-like grip away, but it wouldn't budge. She was glad she didn't have to breathe—she felt her windpipe crack.
 

"You…I smell one on you…"
 

Siobhan continued to pull at Maeve's wrists. One what? What the hell was this bitch going on about?
 

And then those teeth were at her throat. She'd turned Siobhan in her hand as if she weighed nothing and sunk those rows of needle teeth—

The pain was like nothing Siobhan had ever experienced—there was no euphoria in this. No endorphin rush. This creature didn't care for its prey—it only required sustenance, and obedience, and nothing more. Song never had a chance.