The Vampire Hunters (Book 2): Vampyrnomicon (10 page)

“And you believe that?”

“Of course.”

Though Jessica thought Drake was naïve about the undead not having a vendetta against him, he never saw himself as heroic. His humility turned Jessica on.

“Now, is this an interview or a date?” Drake moved his hand out from under Jessica’s, placed it on top of hers, and squeezed gently. She felt a warm flush of anticipation through her skin. Jessica slid closer to Drake. As she did, van Helsing jumped into Drake’s lap and stood on his hind legs, begging for attention. Drake scooped up van Helsing in his arms. The rabbit nudged Drake on the nose.

“Sorry, about that. Van Helsing gets jealous.”

Jessica leaned closer and scratched van Helsing on the back of the head. “You know, two’s a company and three’s a crowd.”

Van Helsing leaned toward Jessica and nudged her nose.

“He likes you,” said Drake. “He just kissed you.”

“It’s sad that your rabbit has kissed me more tonight than you have.” Jessica flashed Drake a seductive look that told him exactly what was on her mind.

Drake placed van Helsing on the floor and gave him a gentle pat on the behind. When he turned back to Jessica, she had moved beside him. Reaching out, she placed a hand on each of Drake’s cheeks and lovingly drew him close. Their lips met. Jessica leaned back on the sofa, still holding Drake’s face, guiding him on top of her.

From the doorway to the den, van Helsing watched the humans, his head tilted to one side. Realizing he would not be getting any attention for a while, he headed back to his cage.

*     *     *

Tonight was a fucking waste of time
, thought Walker. Six hours driving around western Virginia and not a single prospect. Damn, he hated it when he miscalculated. Things had changed too much in this region since he visited here during the Great Depression. What had once been the Old South, a racist haven where a black man could get into trouble for merely driving down the street, had slowly become more cosmopolitan as Washington expanded. Walker had hoped to find a pliable redneck to add to the coven as a familiar, and had driven out almost to the Blue Ridge Mountains. Instead of finding a familiar, he spent the night among scores of rubes and NASCAR fans, and not surprisingly came up empty handed. Perhaps the coven would be better off not having a familiar after all.

Despite Hollywood and reams of horror fiction, vampires rarely used familiars. As they had learned the hard way centuries ago, legions of subservient humans protecting the coven by day and doing the masters’ bidding proved more of a liability than a convenience. Yes, there were those who would willingly work for the undead, mostly for the promise of power now and immortality in the future. On occasion, they could be useful. However, since familiars were the front men for the covens, by extension they were the first to be taken when hunters discovered a coven. Then their human weaknesses and faults took over. Only a handful of familiars kept their vows of loyalty and silence. Most told the authorities everything they knew about their masters, and often led angry mobs directly to them. The toll against those covens betrayed by familiars was staggering. After the betrayal in Paris in 1792, every master decided to use a familiar only when absolutely necessary.

This, unfortunately, was one of those times.

Walker glanced at the dashboard clock on the SUV he had stolen from long-term parking at Union Station. 2:18. Because he had at least a two-hour ride to Washington, he would need to head back now if he wanted to have enough time to ditch the vehicle and make it to the hotel by dawn. His foot pushed down on the accelerator, and the SUV’s speed inched up to sixty-five miles per hour.

Things worldwide had changed quite a bit since Walker had been turned a millennium ago during the Crusades. Since then, he went by many names, sired scores of masters, and founded more covens than he could recall. He had fed off of Crusaders in the Levant. Had ravaged Europe during the Black Death. Had feasted off of a hundred and fifty years of wars and revolutions in Europe in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. And had cut a swath of destruction across the New World during the influenza pandemic of 1919. Every time a tragedy plagued mankind, Walker could be found exploiting it. Feeding off of it. Enjoying it.

It was an unusual existence for the eldest son of poor Christian farmers from the Sudan. Born over a thousand years ago with the name Shomari, he had lived a normal, mundane existence tilling his parents’ land along the Nile until captured by an Arab raiding party and sold into slavery in Cairo. Years of physical labor had made him strong and muscular, and as such commanded a good price on the auction block. The fat, sleazy Arab who purchased him had intentions other than work. Once back in his new home in Antioch, every night he would be sodomized by that sadistic beast, being forced to perform sexual acts like a woman, or having them performed on him. It was more than just a nightly assault on his body. It was an offense against his religion. An offense against his masculinity. An offense against his dignity. Adding insult to injury, his slave master gave him the name Adham, the black stallion.

The indignity lasted for three years, finally coming to an end during the siege of Antioch. Amidst the carnage and terror, he had sought out one man. Muhammad al Muhammad Abu Bakir. Rumors amongst the slave community intimated that Abu Bakir was some type of wizard, a man capable of bestowing incredible strength to whomever he deemed worthy, albeit at a price the horrors of which no one ever dared ask about. Many a slave fantasized about what he or she would do if they possessed such strength, but none had enough courage to obtain it. Yet as the city crumbled, as panic and despair replaced order, he sought out Abu Bakir and begged to be granted the strength. His got his wish and received so much more than he bargained for. Unfathomable strength. Immortality.

And the lust for revenge, the most powerful emotion.

The lights from a small gas station/convenience store attracted Walker’s attention. The place was run-down, poorly lit, and made of cinderblock walls with panes of glass set high in the structure. At first he thought it was closed because he saw no one around. Then he spotted an old Chevy Impala parked around back and a rusty pick-up truck beyond the twin gas pumps with two men standing around it. The SUV’s fuel gauge read one-quarter full, so Walker decided to fill up.

Pulling in between the pumps and the main station, Walker climbed out and filled up the tank with twenty dollars’ worth of regular. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the two men by the pick-up staring at him, whispering back and forth to each other. The taller one wore a baseball cap and a black T-shirt with a faded Union Jack on front. The shorter wore a blue flannel shirt and red parka vest. The finest the South had to offer. Walker wondered if they kept their white sheets and hoods in the pick-up with them.

When he finished pumping the gas, Walker went inside to pay. He had just finished handing his money to the clerk, a fat man with scraggly red hair and beard, when the two rednecks from outside entered. The taller one stood by the counter, with parka boy behind him, blocking his way out. Walker sensed trouble.

The clerk looked over at the two men. “What’s up?”

“Not much, Ned. Jus’ tryin’ to make sure the nigger don’t steal nothin’.”

The clerk leaned over the counter and stared at Walker. “Now, you wouldn’t do anything like that, would you, boy?”

Walker suppressed a grin. Tonight might not be wasted after all.

“Hey,” prompted Ned. “I’m talking to you, boy.”

“Yeah, boy. He’s talking to ya.” The taunt came from the little asshole in the red parka, the pliant one who would follow the others.

Ned stood upright and reached under the counter. He shot a glance to the taller man. “Whaddya think, Tom? He seems awfully guilty to me.”

Tom placed his left hand over his right and cracked the knuckles. “I think we ought to let him know that country folks don’t take kindly to thievin’ niggers.”

“Yeah,” chimed in parka boy.

Walker had found his familiar.

Without looking at his victims, Walker spoke slowly, his deep voice sounding ominous. “Why aren’t you home fucking your mother, Tom? The line too long?”

“Why you fuckin’ son of a bitch.” Tom raced toward Walker, his right hand drawing back for a punch.

Walker spun around to face Tom and morphed into his vampiric form. Tom faltered. Walker reached out and grabbed the back of his head and his chin. With a single, effortless twist, he turned Tom’s head around. The snapping and cracking of the human’s vertebrae muffled his cry of pain. Parka boy stared into Tom’s dying eyes and the lips that mouthed silent words. When Tom dropped lifelessly to the floor, parka boy went white with terror.

A double metallic click sounded from behind Walker. He turned to see Ned standing behind the counter, a pump action shotgun in his hands. “You’re dead now, nigger.”

Buckshot erupted from the shotgun and peppered Walker. It tore through his skin and muscles, and exited out his back, shattering several bottles on the shelf behind him. The clerk pumped another round and fired again, with the same results. He stared at Walker, still not believing what he saw. His hands started to shake. He dropped the shotgun and stumbled back, hitting the wall. Too scared to talk, it took several seconds before he muttered, “Fuck me.”

“I intend to.”

Walker launched himself onto the counter, landing hard on its wooden surface, and snarled at Ned. Having regained some of his composure, the clerk ducked and tried to run for the exit. Walker reached down and grabbed his neck, digging his talons into the muscles. Ned screamed. Fear overwhelmed him when Walker lifted him off of the floor by his neck and dropped him onto the counter, placed both hands on either side of the clerk’s head, and applied pressure. He thrashed around and wailed like a pig on a slaughterhouse conveyor belt. Cracking could be heard over the clerk’s cries.

“Oh, God! No! Don’t! Please!”

Ned’s head caved in with a sickening snap. Brain matter and blood erupted from a large fissure on his left temple, splattering Walker and the countertop. His eyes exploded from their sockets and dangled down his collapsed face. A few teeth from the broken upper jaw dropped onto the counter. With nothing solid for Walker to hold on to, the clerk slipped out of his grip. The body fell to its knees on the counter before toppling over onto the floor.

With a single leap, Walker landed in front of parka boy. He stared at the contemptible little shit and clasped him around the neck.

“P-please don’t k-kill me,” parka boy stammered. “I’ll d-do anything you want.”

Walker transformed back into his human form. “I was hoping you’d say that. What’s your name?”

“Jack Akers.”

“Tell me, Jack. Is your miserable little life worth doing everything I demand of you?”

“Y-yes.”

“No matter what I demand?”

Akers closed his eyes and nodded repeatedly.

“Good. You will serve as my familiar. You will do what I demand of you when I demand it. No questions asked. If you serve me well, you’ll be appropriately rewarded.” Walker squeezed Akers’ neck tight, momentarily cutting off his supply of air. “If you fuck up, you’ll die. If you betray me, when I’m through with you, you will beg me to kill you. Do you understand?”

Akers nodded. “Yes.”

“Yes
what
?”

“Yes….” Akers stared at Walker, confused. “Sir?”

“Good.” Walker loosened his grip. Akers leaned against the nearest shelf, massaging his neck and gulping for air.

Walker looked through the gas station’s windows to the rusty pick-up truck. “Is that your truck?”

“It’s Tom’s. He left the keys in it.”

“Load the bodies into the back and cover them with a tarp. We’ll dispose of them on the way home.”

“What about the… the.…” Akers remained transfixed on the blood and gore dripping off the counter and wall.

“We don’t have time to clean it up. Now move.”

As Akers ran outside to pull the pick-up truck around back, Walker stepped behind the counter and shut off all the outside and most of the inside lights to make sure they received no unwanted guests. He made a quick walkthrough of the station to ensure there were no security cameras that recorded the event or witnesses cowering somewhere in a dark corner. As predicted, he found neither. He then cleaned out the cash register to make it look like a robbery gone terribly wrong.

To get to the cash register, Walker had to step over Ned’s corpse. The crushed skull lay in pieces amidst a growing puddle of blood. A few larger chunks remained attached to the torn and bruised flesh. The lower jaw had detached on one side, and now lay at an awkward angle. It served the asshole right. The clerk fucked with him, and died painfully for it. Revenge was one of the strongest emotions in a vampire.

Revenge was the driving force that led Walker to become a master in the first place.

*     *     *