The Vampire Hunters (Book 2): Vampyrnomicon (44 page)

A piping hot
bath, two cups of hot herbal tea, and a pair of painkillers prescribed by the hospital helped ease some of Alison’s aches, but not by much. Like soaking up Hurricane Katrina with a sponge. As she crawled into bed with a glass of iced water and a bottle of aspirin, every muscle in her body protested. She could hardly wait until the morning when her muscles had a full night to stiffen.

Her muscles would not be the only thing worse in the morning. The more she thought about this new situation, with two new masters and a daywalker to contend with, the less confident she felt. Every time they took down a snuffy or a master, it seemed as though twice as many replaced them. Not the type of odds that inspired confidence.

She had decided to retire as a hunter.

Too bad she would not follow through on that plan. How could she? Her original intent to retire had been predicated on their wiping out the nest. As last night proved, that was far from the case. The hunters faced their worst threat ever. She would not turn her back on her duty. Or on Drake.

If any good came out of this turn of events, it seemed to have snapped Drake back to his old self. The overcautious, careful man who had been threatening the hunters’ cohesion disappeared at the Freer Gallery. In his place returned the man who battled vampires like someone possessed. The man willing to take whatever risks were necessary to kill the undead. The man who led their crusade to rid the world of evil. The man she had fallen in love with.

As poor as the odds were of their eliminating these new masters and the daywalker, and coming out of this alive, she could not…
would
not abandon Drake now. They would see this battle through together to the end. No matter how the last blow of the last battle played out, she would be by Drake’s side when it happened.

Removing two aspirin from the bottle, Alison popped them in her mouth and washed them down with iced water. Rolling onto her side, she settled into the pillows and drifted off to sleep. Despite the bleak outlook the hunters faced, she saw one silver lining among the clouds, as thin as it may be. It had not escaped Alison’s attention that, during the battle in the exhibit hall, when the female master was about to carve her up, Drake opted to save her rather than take down the master that threatened him.

*     *     *

Halfway across the
city, Drake also took some painkillers, although he washed down his pills with a swig of bourbon. He had been hoping to use van Helsing as his personal heating pad, and when he settled down in the reclining chair had placed his furry companion on his chest. That lasted all of fifteen seconds before van Helsing became restless, gave Drake a nose nudge, and jumped off to romp through the apartment. As van Helsing raced from one room to another, Drake stared out the window, absentmindedly watching the lightning on the horizon.

Last night’s battle left him with a feeling of pessimism he desperately wanted to conceal from the others. Truth be known, none of them should have survived their encounter with the masters. That they did had less to do with their own fighting prowess than with the vampires having underestimated their enemy. These masters miscalculated the hunters’ skills, and that overconfidence had cost them dearly. Sure, the vampires had gotten their asses reamed, but their asses were still intact. Their wounds would heal a hell of a lot faster than the hunters’. Drake was under no illusions. They masters would not underestimate Drake and his team again.

Next time, they would be looking to settle the score.

Fortunately, if what Reese said about the
Vampyrnomicon
proved to be true, then once they got hold of the book they would be able to defeat the vampires. The problem would be finding it. According to Ferrar’s memoirs, the
Vampyrnomicon
was hidden in the Dambovita citadel, a place no one had heard of. To retrieve the book they needed to figure out the location of this enigmatic citadel, assuming that such a place actually existed. And assuming that the
Vampyrnomicon
had not been moved, lost, or destroyed since the fifteenth century. And assuming that the entire story was not just some bullshit legend. Too many assumptions, but sadly they had little else. Reese believed in it, which was good enough for Drake. If the
Vampyrnomicon
still existed, Reese would find it.

Until then, Drake’s more immediate problem centered on how to fight an army of the undead whose numbers grew larger and more powerful every day, and which was led by an indestructible master.

As Drake mulled over that depressing thought, van Helsing hopped over to the glass doors leading onto the balcony. He telescoped, standing on his hind legs to get a better view outside. When the lightning flashed across the northwest horizon, van Helsing batted the glass with his front paws, warning off the intruder. Then the thunder rolled in, rattling the windows. Van Helsing turned and bolted for the safety of the master bedroom. The antic gave Drake a good laugh.

And his battle strategy.

The hunters did not have to stand and fight the undead, which meant engaging them on their terms. Drake would change tactics. No more hunting them down while they prowled and battling them to the death. Now they would seek out the covens, hit them during the day when they were most vulnerable, then get out before the vampires could counterattack. It would give the hunters the initiative and, with luck, keep the undead on the ropes long enough for Reese to find the
Vampyrnomicon
. Then the odds would be a little more even.

A muffled thump preceded van Helsing hopping onto Drake’s lap. The rabbit maneuvered himself into a comfortable position before lying down on his chest. Drake grinned. He could worry about hunting vampires tomorrow. Right now, he had something more important to contend with. Drake took van Helsing’s ears between his thumb, index, and forefingers and massaged. Clicking in happiness, van Helsing lowered his head and snuggled into Drake. Drake petted his companion until both of them fell asleep.

Outside, the gathering storm clouds moved in over Washington.

A lot of people graciously gave their time to talk with me while researching and writing this book. I want to make sure they are recognized for their efforts; however, any errors or flaws in this book are mine.

Let me start by saying thank you to Michele Quander-Collins, director of Public Affairs, and Hiram Tanner, both of the D.C. Water and Sewer Authority, for arranging a tour of the sewers underneath Washington D.C.; Steven Medley, foreman of the stream cleaning team, for granting permission to accompany one of his crews; and Dave Young, Kevin Tucker, Tyrone Johnson, and Mark Coghill for taking me into the sewers on one of their inspections. Not only did I gain some invaluable background information, I had one hell of a time.

Tim Kirk of the Freer Museum’s Collections Management Division gave up a morning to provide a behind-the-scenes tour of the museum’s archive section and to answer all my questions about how to preserve historical texts.

Maureen Larsen of the Adams-Green Funeral Home in Herndon, Virginia provided great insights into the embalming process, which included a tour of the home’s embalming room, and agreed to read the finished chapter for accuracy. I owe the realism of that scene to her.

Scott M. Baker is a horror/urban fantasy author who currently lives in Florida with his wife, stepdaughter, two boxers and a cat. His published novels include
Yeitso
,
The Vampire Hunters
trilogy and the
Rotter World
series. You can find Scott at
scottmbakerauthor.blogspot.com
and on Facebook at
facebook.com/ScottMBakerAuthor
.