The Eye of the Moon (5 page)

To say that this caused an outbreak of panic would be an understatement. Every single woman and at least half of the men in attendance screamed and got up from their seats. Problem was, no one was quite sure where to run. The entire church was in half darkness except for where the seven vampires were standing, and the Reverend didn’t appear to be making much effort to turn on any more lights. At least, not at first. But then, as the theme from
2001
came to an end, another song started up and he flicked more of the switches on his console. A spotlight suddenly illuminated the stage directly in front of the aisle that ran down the centre of the church between the rows of pews. There was no one visible in the bright beam of light, just a microphone stand surrounded by a thick swirling of dust.

The sight distracted everyone for little more than a second. Then the seven vampires let out loud screeches, like wild animals preparing to spring on their prey. One by one, they lowered their hoods and leapt up from the stone-flagged floor, to soar high into the arched vaults of the roof of the nave. Each had only one thing in mind: to pick out a victim below and dive down on the poor soul, to feast upon their blood.

The panicked congregation still had no idea where to run.
The pews were packed with struggling figures, as some tried to climb over them, others barged their neighbours, and others still sought to hide beneath the substantial wooden benches. Like everyone else, Sanchez was petrified. His first thought was to reach into the brown paper sack he had brought with him for some of the rotten fruit to throw the way of the vampires, but he quickly realized that such a course would not be wise. Instead, he decided to crouch down under the pew and hope that some of the taller folk got snatched first. So, with the courage that defined him as both man and bartender, he dropped down on the stone floor and ducked under the seat. For good measure, he pulled Casper, the funny-looking kid in the parka, down on top of him as extra protection. As the vampires swirled around in the cold church air above them, circling their prey and revelling in the fear they were inflicting upon the screaming churchgoers, the sound of trumpets suddenly blared out of the stereo speakers, all adding to the confusion and disorientation everyone was feeling.

Then something unexpected happened. Still standing tall by his pulpit, the Reverend bellowed into his microphone.

‘I warned you muthafucking vampires never to set foot in this church!’ he yelled, jabbing a clenched fist up at the cloaked undead circling menacingly above the crowd of terror-stricken townsfolk. ‘Now get ready to feel the pain. Ladies, gentlemen and muthafuckers! – I give you … the King of Rock and Roll!’

A rugged and imposing figure stepped into the previously unoccupied space where the spotlight fell on the stage. There, wearing a white jumpsuit with a thick gold belt around his waist and sporting a dense quiff of black hair and some meaty sideburns, stood Elvis, Santa Mondega’s greatest living hitman. He had a blues guitar in his hands. A smart, sleek, black beast of a guitar, shiny enough to suggest that it was his pride and joy. With his hand steady and his nerve unflinching he set about playing it as the backing music kicked in from the stereo speakers. He strummed a few blues chords real hard and began to tap his right foot in readiness for singing the first
verse of ‘Steamroller Blues’.

Elvis was so wrapped up in his music and in making sure it sounded perfect for his audience that he seemed oblivious to all that was going on around him. And such was his presence on stage that everyone stopped and stared, including the shady vampires hovering just below the roof. Each one of them was eyeing him up as their first kill.

And then he began to sing.

As the first notes boomed out of the amps, one of the vampires could contain its bloodlust no longer. With a piercing shriek, it swooped down towards the gyrating Elvis impersonator, fangs wide, ready to kill. In response, the King, without missing a beat, simply swivelled his hips one way and swung his guitar the other, aiming the neck upward at the incoming bloodsucker.

A silver dart burst from a concealed hole at the neck end of the supercool black guitar. It zipped through the air faster than the lightning outside and, with a disturbingly audible thud, embedded itself in the heart of the approaching vampire. The shocked member of the undead felt it rip through its chest and stopped dead in mid air, eyes bulging in pain and disbelief. Its last thought was:
Shit! I don’t wanna die to no fuckin’ James Taylor song
… A second later it burst spontaneously into flames and dropped to the floor of the stage at Elvis’s feet, where it was swiftly reduced to a small mound of still-smoking ashes.

Inside Saint Ursula’s, the mood of panic and dread among the churchgoers changed in an instant to one of hope and optimism. The same could not be said for the circling vampires. Momentarily stunned by the destruction of one of their number, they now refocused their attentions on the singer on stage.

And the King carried on playing the blues.

From his hiding place on the cold stone floor under the – surprisingly heavy – young kid he had dragged down with him, Sanchez looked up in awe.

This was gonna be one helluva show.

Kione loved 31 October. There was something distinctive about the kill on Halloween. It just had that oh-so-sweet taste to it.

Santa Mondega was home to vampires from all over the world, but the city centre was reserved for the undead from Europe and the Americas. The early vampire settlers had originated in Paris, and had been joined by many of their European cousins long before Columbus discovered America. In the eighteenth century the city had experienced a vast influx of Latin American refugees. Once settled, a number of them had soon become members of the undead and formed clans of their own. Before long, the vampire population had grown far too big for the city, so that by the time the African vampires, like Kione, had begun to arrive, an unwritten immigration policy had been introduced. As a result, the African and Asian vampires settled in the hills that ringed Santa Mondega. The Orientals and the North Africans, in particular, loved the freedom and fresh air of the hills and valleys, preferring to hunt their prey in the wild on the very edges of the city. All, that is, except Kione. He had long since been banished from the hills for breaking not just some, but all, of the tenets of the vampire code of honour. A creature without scruples, class or pride, he lived under the pier, scavenging nightly for anything he could lay his foul hands upon.

During his time in the hills he had been a member of the Black Plague, a clan that had always kept to themselves. They were vast in number and as vicious as any other vampire clan, and it was well known that if they ever decided they
wanted a piece of the action in the city an all-out undead war would ensue. One of the main reasons why they stayed out was because of an old wives’ tale that had originated many centuries earlier. Santa Mondega folklore held that for one hour each night scarecrows came to life and hunted down and killed any strangers that had ventured into the city. There had never been any evidence to prove it was true, but since there were scarecrows in the front gardens of many of the houses on the outskirts, it served its purpose in keeping the vampires from the hills on the fringes.

The members of the Black Plague almost always travelled in large numbers on the rare occasions when they ventured into Santa Mondega, and the city clans did likewise whenever they chose to roam in the hills and valleys. Since Kione had no friends of his own kind – or any other, for that matter – he kept himself hidden away at the harbour, sometimes snatching mere fish and crustaceans for food. On other nights, however – like tonight – he would strike gold. Young innocents were his favourites, and tonight’s innocent was a mouth-watering proposition.

He had watched the girl’s scarecrow companion depart, and had then eyed her up feverishly as she made her way along the promenade to the pier. He had prayed to the Goddess Yemaya to send the young girl his way on this special night. And Yemaya was listening. She had willingly guided the young girl along the promenade and on to the wooden pier to meet Kione. He was not about to turn down such a fine offering.

Clinging by his long fingernails to the final wooden slat at the end of the boardwalk, he waited patiently for the perfect moment to strike. The girl looked so happy and carefree, which was just how Kione liked them best. For a while he allowed her to stand and gaze out at the ocean, as he in turn stared and marvelled at her shiny red shoes. Soon the blue-and-white dress that covered almost all of the flesh on her torso would turn a similar colour, stained with her blood. He couldn’t help licking his lips at the thought of it. Eventually, after teasing himself almost to the point of orgasm, he made his move.

With eye-deceiving speed he sprang from his position hanging under the pier beneath her feet and allowed himself the pleasure of floating at eye level no more than a foot in front of her, his clawed feet hovering six feet above the waves. It was a moment of the most exquisite pleasure. He relished watching the expression change on the face of his prey as she realized she was about to be eaten alive by a filthy nightstalker wearing ragged brown clothes and stinking of fish. Despite the terror evident in her pupils, dilating with every passing moment, he took even greater pleasure in the knowledge that she had no idea just how much passion and lust he was about to unleash at the same time as the unbearable pain he would inflict upon her.

As he watched her jaw drop, preparing to scream, he began undressing her with his eyes. Oh, to rip that dress off and feast his eyes, tongue and hands on her silky white flesh.

‘Hello, my lovely,’ he sneered, in what he fondly considered to be a seductive voice.

To Beth it was nothing of the sort. It was a seedy voice, and one accompanied by a stench of foul breath that might have come from the depths of Satan’s rectum. As the initial shock passed she instinctively took a step backwards and considered her predicament. Should she make a run for it? Or stay and try to talk her way out of the situation? Survival instinct kicked in and she turned to run, but no sooner had she whirled round than Kione was in front of her once more. With sinuous agility he had flipped over her in the air and landed on the pier between her and the sanctuary of the promenade.

‘Oh please,’ she begged. ‘Don’t hurt me. I have to get home.’

Kione grinned broadly, showing off the yellowed fangs in his mouth, fangs that matched the colour of the whites of his narrow, evil eyes. There were small chunks of day-old flesh still rotting away in the gaps between his crooked teeth. This vampire was a dirty bastard, in every sense of the word. Unclean, unpleasant, untrustworthy, and without doubt a colossal sexual deviant of the highest order.

‘Take off your dress,’ he said, leering.

‘What?’

‘Your dress. Lose it.’

‘But, but …
what?
’

‘You heard me. Strip for me. Get going quick, girl, because I can assure you if you don’t do it then
I
will, and people say I don’t have the most gentle touch in the world.’

Beth looked at his hands. He held them in front of his stomach, the long, bony fingers making groping motions, as if playing with an imaginary pair of breasts. Unsure what to do, but desperate to buy herself some time while she came up with a plan of how to get away from him, she began to slide the blue straps of her dress over her shoulders. Kione couldn’t resist licking his lips in readiness for what was to come next.

What actually followed very shortly after the first shoulder strap was loosened was the sound of a pair of hard-heeled boots pounding on the wooden slats of the pier behind him. At first it resonated only in his subconscious, for his lust was taking over his thoughts. The sound of the thudding footsteps grew louder and louder, faster and faster, as their owner drew ever closer at high speed. Kione’s lust had control for just a second too long before his instincts took over again. His reaction, when it came, was too late. He turned around just in time to see a scarecrow’s fist, which hit him flush on the nose. He fell backwards on to Beth, who shrieked and reeled away, sending the vampire crashing to the planks. As she readjusted her dress she saw the wide-eyed figure of JD staring at his own fist, looking somewhat startled at what he had just seen himself do.