Hacks from Hell, Unlimited
in co-operation with
Evil Entities for a Darker Tomorrow's
Department Three
and
The Whip Cream and Razor Blades Corporation's
North American Division
presents
Dawn of Darkness: Into the Abyss
A Vampire Princess Miyu / Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter
Crossover
by
Joey O'Leary
aka
The Apprentice
Anita Blake, Jean-Claude and all other characters taken from
the Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter novels are property of Laurell K.
Hamilton.
Miyu, Larva, and all other characters taken from Vampire
Princess Miyu are the property of Toshihiro Hirano and Narumi
Kakinouchi.
Unless otherwise noted all other characters are the mine.
Please get permission before using them.
Thank you's go out to:
Megazone, Gryphon, ReRob and everyone else who's wrote
something in that epic tale known as Undocumented Features. You're
the ones responsible for getting me interested in Manga and Anime,
again.
Darren Steffler (aka Twister) for Twisted Path and Twister.
For showing me the joys of Ranma 1/2 and reminding me that it *is*
possible to have a great self-insertion fanfic without reading UF.
And for Puck, the Canadian god who, it seems, is about to father a
race of half-elves all on his own.
Bert Van Vliet. For revealing to us that it is possible to
be more of a pain to Sylia than Priss and Mackie combined. Frankly,
I'm surprised you haven't given her an ulcer yet.
Hitomi Ichinohei. For amazing me with the number of fanfics
she can have going at once, yet have all of them be of superior
quality. I'm still working (some) on that BGC 'fic I told you about,
Hitomi. Believe it or not, it's what's caused me to create this one.
Barry Cadwgan. For giving me (in no particular order):
spellchecking services; inspiration; ideas; comments and criticism;
encouragement; and assurances that just because I'm able to write
characters like Set, is no reason to see a psychiatrist.
For White Wolf and the rest of the FFML. For great stories
and a chance to have this thing looked at.
To Toshihira Hirano and Narumi Kakinouchi, for giving us Miyu.
And, finally, to Laurell K. Hamilton. For showing me that it
was possible to mix horror, fantasy, mystery and a bit of romance
together. For giving us vampires that are truly monsters, but showing
that humans could be monstrous as well. For Anita Blake herself; a
strong, smart heroine who doesn't shriek when the monsters are after
her, but instead gives them nine millimeter headaches. And for
Jean-Claude; a hero and villain all at once whom I can't help but root
for.
Any praise, comments, corrections, advice or out-and-out
flames that you decide shouldn't be made public should be sent to:
tjolear@ibm.net
But, please, put something in the header so the other people I
share my account with will know it's for me.
Thanks.
_____
Act 1
Of Pain and Pleasure
Chapter 3: Contractual Arrangements 101 - Give and Take
Part 1
"No man chooses evil because it is evil; he only
mistakes it for happiness, the good he seeks."
- Mary Godwin Wollstonecraft
<The Morning After - Faith No More - The Real Thing>
Number seventeen on Texas street was a graffiti-covered,
grime-coated five story brownstone whose lawn would have looked
at home on the African savanna. It's broken, boarded-up windows
invoked images of blind men with dried blood covering the bandages
that covered their eyes. This imagery was reinforced whenever the
wind blew through the boards, producing a symphony of piteous moans,
like souls sentenced to eternity in the Lake of Fire.
The bare-footed children that ran past the woman clad in a grey
track suit weren't worried about broken glass, however. After all,
people would pay money for glass. And, by the standards of the
majority of number seventeen's tenants, they paid quite handsomely
for the glass and, as an added bonus, never asked any questions on
the glass offered to them. To people who lived on welfare or, if
they were lucky, had jobs that weren't even paying minimum wage this
money was a welcomed supplement to their financial situations.
In short, number seventeen wasn't an image out of the
American Dream. Unfortunately, it wasn't out of place on Texas
street, because Texas street was in South City's Dogstown. On
Dogstown's borders, true, but still in it. Still in one of the
areas that most people in St. Louis, Missouri wished would disappear.
And, since neither reality, or Dogstown's inhabitants, would be
that accommodating, a part of St. Louis that most ignored. With
`most' including the politicians.
After all, virtually all of the people in Dogstown were
either not working, working at minimum wage (if they were lucky)
or criminals. So Dogstown was pretty much at the bottom of the
list for city services. Streetlights were uncommon, working ones
were rare. The roads could have been used in a four-by-four
commercial. The sewage system was a bad joke. And the police
presence in Dogstown was an even bigger joke.
Most would have expected that this would mean that Dogstown
was filled with the noise and debris, human and otherwise, of gang
violence. Most would have been wrong. Dogstown was considered
neutral territory by more groups, and its neutrality was violated
less often, then anywhere else in St. Louis. Dogstown held, per
square foot, more drug labs, chop shops and bolt holes then anywhere
else in St. Louis. Only the desperate, the mentally unbalanced and
those looking to commit suicide would do something stupid enough to
pull the cops down on Dogstown.
The St. Louis Police Department's officers know what's going
on in Dogstown and, whenever they get a chance, would put a dent in
it's economy. But, without a strong police presence there, that's all
they can do. Support from the locals is near non-existent, even if
the threats of reprisals didn't scare possible informants, they still
wouldn't talk willingly to the Powers That Be. As for these same
PTB's, they won't give SLPD the money it needs, for more officers and
equipment, so Dogstown can be patrolled in force. After all, it's
pointed out, Dogstown has some of the lowest assault, rape and murder
rates of all of the city.
That's why someone like Angela DiFranco isn't afraid of
jogging the two blocks from where she had parked her car to Texas
street to do her older brother a favor. She was as safe in Dogstown
as she could be anywhere else in St. Louis. And as for where she had
parked the car, that block was safe too, but for other reasons. It
housed rehab clinics favored by politicians, powerful businessmen and
other members of the PTB. It, therefore, had just the kind of police
presence that the SLPD was always campaigning to have put in Dogstown.
The irony that a block of rehab centers was besides Dogstown, St.
Louis's biggest source of local drugs, was an irony that escaped
neither SLPD's officers or Dogstown's `entrepreneurs'.
***
Angela stopped for a second after entering number seventeen,
blinking her jade-green eyes rapidly as she adjusted to the change
in lighting. Outside, the bright mid-day sun beat down on an already
humid July afternoon. Inside, it was pleasantly cool, with the faint
light creeping into the building from outside, and what few lightbulbs
that worked at all, forcing that darkness back just enough to make it
seem as if it were twilight. As she started up the steps Angela
suddenly moved to one side to allow five African-Americans wearing
long, heavy jackets that hung strangely and carried designer leather
suitcases to continue down the stairs. The redhead nodded to the last
one, as each recognized each other. Not pausing to wonder about what
they were carrying, or about just how uncomfortable those jackets must
be today, Angela continued up to her destination on the fourth floor.
Finally she reached it, a heavy wooden door with `4B' written on it in
faded white letters. From her keyring, Angela selected a key and
unlocked the large black metal lock that seemed to blend into the
equally black door.
Considering how often the twenty two year-old had gone through
this routine, and how uneventful it had always been, it is
understandable that she didn't take a look inside the apartment
before entering and locking the door behind her. After she had put
the various locks and bolts into place, however, she did look.
Immediately she gasped in surprise and shock, as her eyes locked on
the mess in the dining/living room.
Her olive-toned face started to turn beet red as she stared
at the now brown-red carpeting in that room, and at the animal
carcass being faintly illuminated by the rays of light sneaking
through the boards that covered the room's bulletproof glass window.
At least three beams hit the object, making identifying it much
easier. Even as she furiously thought on who would do this, how
it had been done and why those responsible had picked this particular
way to commit suicide, Angela continued to stare at the remains in
the living room, as if that would cause this unwanted surprise to
vanish. She couldn't help but wince in unconscious sympathy at
some of the things that had been done to this poor beast.
Then she made her fourth mistake of the day, she hit the lit
switch by the door. With the living room now fully illuminated she
could see much more clearly what had been done to the poor brute.
Angela's face paled like a sheet at what she saw. Then it started to
turn green, as it finally sank in that this wasn't an animal's
corpse, it was a human's. What she did next would have impressed her
brothers. She made it to the kitchenette's sink before vomiting.
***
Angela DiFranco was truly her father's child. After rinsing
her mouth several times, and turning on the apartment's air exchanger,
she searched the rest of the apartment with a fine-tooth comb, both the
bedroom and the attached bathroom. Although she doubted that anyone
was in with her, she would have been an easy target while leaning over
the sink for the last few minutes, she hoped to find clues as to had
done this, and why it had been done.
Thirty minutes later she slumped down in a Laz-y-boy and
stared at the window. Nothing was missing. Nothing was added.
Nothing was out of place. No signs of any of the locks being picked,
or the windows being opened. The only thing that differed from the
the last time she had checked the safehouse for Tony last week was
the body. It was almost as if it had appeared out of thin air.
Which, although unlikely, remained a possibility, Angela admitted to
herself.
Looking down at the gold Rolex, Angela grimaced. It was only
a little after three in the afternoon. It would be a long time yet
until sundown. And with something like this you have to wait until
after the sun set before cleaning up the mess, even in Dogstown.
Especially in Dogstown. But, Angela mused, who should she call for
help in cleaning it up? Tony was doing some work in New York and
both her father and Jimmy were visiting uncle Vincent in Detroit
until the end of the week. The number of people she knew that could
both help clean this up and be trusted to keep quite about something
like this was distressingly short. After forcing herself to take
another look at the mound of flesh and bones before her, Angela
cut her list in half with a single wince.
And then the corpse groaned.
It was more of a soft, almost inaudible, moan but it was,
without a doubt, a sound. A sound coming from a man who was, quite
obviously, dead. Then, with Angela looking on in shock, it's left
arm moved itself slightly. Not much, but enough so that it's eyes
were visible, because the left hand didn't have any fingers to cover
them with. Angela shot to her feet, so scarred that she could even
let loose the shriek of terror clawing away at her throat. When
nothing else happened she cautiously took a step towards the
not-corpse.
The first thing she noticed were the eyes. Their pupils
were the color of golden honey. The next thing her now-numb mind
informed her of was that the body looked better then when she had
first seen it. And, finally, she noticed the fangs.
Without even thinking it over, Angela knew who to call. She
pulled her cellular phone from her track suit, flipped it open and
dialled the number. After six rings the answering machine picked up
and a voice that sounded like a B-movie's idea of a gangster started
to speak. For once Angela didn't have to fight the urge to giggle at
it.
"Ya've reached the phone of Willie McCoy, unfortunately I
ain't here to answer it. But, if ya leave your name, number and
reason for callin', after the beep that is, I'll get back ta ya.
Thanks."
Despite herself Angela jumped a little at the unexpected
beep and took a deep breath before speaking. "Hi, Willie. It'
Angela here..."
***
Willie McCoy missed a lot of things about being alive;
sunsets, a good spaghetti dinner, not being viewed automatically as
a soulless monster, just to name three. One thing that he didn't
miss about being alive, however, was the ability to throw up. And,
when he first saw Angela's `little mess', that's exactly what he
would have to fought from doing. If he was alive that is.
Not that he let this show on his face or voice. He had, after
all, more first hand experience with Angela's `family business' then
she did. And he had seen and felt quite a bit more since becoming a
vampire. And his fellow vampires all shared one trait with those
involved in that particular field of business: If they showed signs
of weakness, then they weren't your equal. So Willie had long ago
learned to control his face, voice and stomach. At least for the most
part.
"Ya know, Angie, " he said after turning to look at Angela,
"I wondered why ya sounded so strange when I heard your message, now
I'm wonderin' how ya kept together at all. Whoever did this poor sap,
did him but good. But why call me? Not that yer old childhood friend
aint glad ta help out, but there's got to be people ya know that are
better at this then me."
Angela sighed deeply and ran a hand through her long hair
before answering the question. "Look, Willie, you're probably angry
that Jimmy and I haven't come to see you, or even called, in the last
few months, but you know daddy's a devout Catholic. And you know
what the Catholic church says on vampires," Angela explained as
she looked at the man who was four inches shorter than her. It was
hard not to sound defensive when she wasn't looking him eye to eye,
green to brown. "As for why I called you," she took a deep breath
before rapidly spilling out her reasons,"he's a vamp, and he's
still... alive."
Now Willie couldn't help but blink and stare at her. His
open mouth exposed the pair of gleaming ivory fangs that dropped down
from his top teeth. It took him a few seconds before he recovered
enough to respond. "Ya must be kidding me, Angie!" Willie's voice
was almost overflowing with surprise and disbelief as he continued
to speak, "Ya say that the body was here when ya came in. In. The.
Light! If this was a vamp, sunlight would have burn him until there
weren't even ashes left! What're ya takin', Angie?"
Angela's face went beet-red as she stepped closer to Willie's
face and all but screamed, "Then explain why he looks so much better
then he did a few hours ago! Explain why he has fangs and yellow
eyes! Explain why he moved himself! Three times! And you're one to
talk about doing drugs, Willie McCoy! Where in Hell did you buy your
clothes?!? I mean, a bright-yellow three-piece suit, dark green dress
shoes and a purple, glow-in-the-dark tie!?!"
With that the room suddenly filled with a horrified silence as
a white-faced Angela rapidly stepped back from Willie, whom she had
been practically nose to nose with during her tirade. There was no
expression on his face, a manakin seemed more alive than he did at
that moment. Suddenly the silence was shattered by the wheezing
snickers of Willie's laughter. His body shook so hard with laughter
that he had to hold on to the Laz-y-boy to keep from falling. After
a few seconds of incredulous staring Angela started to giggle, and
then to laugh, with her oldest and dearest friend.
"Now that," Willie finally managed to gasp out a few minutes
later, "is the Angie DiFranco that I remember. Ya've got some good
points there Angie, I gotta admit. I think I know who to call."
With this Willie pulled a cellphone from his suit pocket and dialled
a number from memory.
Ignoring Angela's questioning glance, Willie started talking
to the person on the other end. "It's Willie McCoy, is the Boss in?
Can ya tell him that I'd like to talk to him? Sure, I'll hold."
Willie tapped his right foot and fiddled with his gold sword tietack
for a few minutes. The he seemed to almost come to attention and
started to talk again. Angela couldn't help but notice that he
sounded much more... quiet... then he had before. "Hello,
Jean-Claude..."
***
Ten minutes later, while she was in the bathroom, Angela
heard someone knock on the door. By the time she got back to the
living room Willie had already let the new arrival in and had locked
the door behind him again. The stranger was crouched over the
apartment's first visitor today, with his back turned to her. He
immediately stood back up and faced her, in what seemed to be just
one graceful movement. After just one look, Angela DiFranco knew that
Chippendale posters would never be the same for her.
He was taller than her, about the same amount of difference
as between her and Willie, so Angela guessed he was about five feet
and eleven inches tall. His pale skin seemed to almost purposely
designed to contrast with his jet-black mound of softly curling
hair. His shirt, however, must have been designed to provide
contrast. Angela would have called it a black dress shirt, except
that modern dress shirts don't have lace collars or cuffs. And,
to the best of her knowledge, no dress had ever been made with
those strategic cut-outs. Her eyes were drawn to the darkness of the
cross-shaped burn scar on his chest and, from there, to the tight
black jeans and gleaming black dress shoes he wore. To finish off
this wet dream fashion ensemble was the undone black leather jacket
with silver trim that he wore.
He seemed to glide across the few feet separating them and
then, giving her a small smile that caused her heart to speed up,
shook her hand and started to speak in a voice that seemed to glide
across her flesh, and soul, like the smoothest of silks.
"You must be our hostess, Angela DiFranco. Willie's
description of you seemed impossible at the time, now I see that he
did not do you justice with it." Here he paused to lift her right
hand, which he still held, to his mouth and gently brush the back of
it with his lips. "I will, of course, be glad to help with this
situation. In fact, I may wish to show my appreciation for the trust
you are showing me in more material forms. I'm sure that we can all
trust the others here not to mention this unpleasant discovery, after
all it would most likely raise all sort of attention for all of us."
"But, I am forgetting my manners! You've been cramped in this
apartment for hours! Please, Ms. DiFranco, let Willie drive you home.
You've had a rude shock and really shouldn't put yourself behind the
wheel of a car at the moment. And it will give you and Willie a
chance to get caught up."
Despite how tempting this seemed, Angela shook her head and
replied to this new visitor, "No, really, I can't. I'm representing
a client tomorrow and can't afford to be late getting to court. And
I really shouldn't leave my car out all night.
"Ah, yes," the stranger said, as his now wider smile showed
just the tips of his fangs. "Willie did mention that you were a
lawyer. But, still, you really shouldn't be driving in your
condition, let Willie do that for you. I'll see to it that someone
takes your car back home for you. Please, leave cleaning up this
mess to me."
Angela paused for thought. She really should stay until the
cleaning was completed, this was a complete stranger, even if Willie
did vouch for this `Jean-Claude'. But Willie did vouch for him. And
she was defending a client tomorrow, so she needed her sleep. And
she really din't want to spend the rest of the night looking at
what was in the living room. And she did want to talk to Willie.
Angela idly wondered when she had seen eyes that were a
deeper shade of blue as she shrugged and finally gave in to the
stranger's good intentions. "All right, you talked me into it."
***
"He almost looks alive, doesn't he Boss?" Willie remarked as
he looked at Angela's visitor. Laying as he did on the bed's white
sheets, the stranger looked like he was just napping. He was healed
entirely from the mess he'd been last night and someone had cleaned
him up between when Willie had seen him last in the apartment in
Dogstown and a few minutes ago when he had arrived at the room as
Jean-Claude had... requested.
He could have gone anywhere without notice, if you ignored
the blazing yellow eyes that is. Just an ordinary looking Caucasian
male, late 'teens or early twenties, with unremarkable features topped
with a mess of unruly brown hair. At five foot nine inches he was
neither tall nor short, and his slightly pale complected skin wasn't
too out of the ordinary either. The tight black jeans and socks he
now wore just made him seem paler then he actually was. The
long-sleeved shirt he wore was black with golden lines that made
the high-collared shirt seem like a gathering of storm clouds
furiously spitting forth bolts of lightning.
"I still don't understand how he didn't get burnt to a crisp
with the sun hitten' him, though." Willie finally asked after the
utter stillness of the room got to him. "And, no disrespect meant
Boss, I gotta wonder at all the secrecy and personal attention you're
putting into this one." Willie waved one small hand at the bed even
as he looked at his master.
"Willie, Willie," Jean-Claude's voice was that of a teacher
with an enthusiastic, if slightly slow, student. "You must get out of
the habit of thinking that all vampires are the same. There are
several... subspecies of vampires. Some are able to stand the light
of day. However, they tend to be quite rare and independent. Leaving
aside the fact that I will be owed a favor for the aid I give him,
there is also what was done to him and the way they left him to be
found. Whoever, or whatever, did this is not being very neighbourly.
They really should be taught to be more polite and to clean up their
messes better." Although neither Jean-Claude's voice or the pleasant
expression he wore changed in the slightest, Willie had to suppress an
urge to shiver at that last sentence.
Jean-Claude turned from Willie to look at the bed again before
continuing, "Ms. DiFranco was more than happy to have me buy apartment
4B from her when I threw apartment 4D into the deal. You, Willie, I
trust to know not to speak of these matters, but I do not know Ms.
DiFranco. She's you're friend Willie, what do you think?"
Willie put his hands into the pockets of his dark purple
jacket before they could give away how nervous he was at that mildly
asked question. Somehow he kept that emotion from showing on his face
or in his voice, even though he knew Jean-Claude would sense it
anyway. "Yes, she'll stay quiet, for three reasons. First, Angela
isn't the type that will kiss and tell, if she says she'll keep a
secret she means it. Second, she's a lawyer. If she tells what she
knows her reputation will suffer, both for telling stories and for
what she told itself." Willie couldn't help himself any longer, he
pulled his hand out of his right side pocket and started to rub the
silver tietack he was wearing tonight. It was in the shape of a
quarterstaff and contrasted greatly with the dark green and light blue
stripped tie it was on. "And, third, she's a DiFranco. They've been
involved with... the grey economy for quite some time, Boss. And they
hold to the old ideas about loyalty, honour and silence."
Jean-Claude nodded his head slightly and continued to look at
the bed and the grey stone wall it was pushed against. When he
replied to Willie's assessment it was in the same soft, pleasant tone
of polite interest as before. "I will, of course, take your word to
her character and bow to your greater experience with Ms. DiFranco.
I, after all, trust you Willie." Willie swallowed involuntarily at
that last sentence and, as Jean-Claude turned to look at him again,
stood straighter, almost at attention.
Jean-Claude didn't seem to notice this as he let a small
smile dance over his face before he continued to speak. "I also
believe that you meant well when you questioned the amount of effort
I have put into this, and I am touched by your concern." If anything
Willie stood even straighter and actually paled slightly at these
words. Jean-Claude's smile grew slightly as he continued on, "But
I've kept you long enough. Go on Willie, do enjoy your date with
Ms. DiFranco."
Willie inclined his head in a movement that was not quite a
bow as he backed out of the room. Jean-Claude didn't stir in the
slightest after turning to look at his guest. He just stood there,
looking like a three-dimensional picture; dressed in jeans that could
have been the twins of last night's pair, a pair of knee-high boots in
a glossy black and a shirt that showed even more of his flesh than the
one he had worn last night. Willie only turned away from him after he
closing the thick wooden door, with its deep black finish behind him.
***
Time flowed through the room but did not touch either of its
occupants. Finally Jean-Claude stirred and spoke to his guest in a
conversational tone of voice. "Willie's correct about you, although
not quite for the reasons he thinks. I am only aware of two branches
of our kind that can survive daylight and neither one is common, even
by vampiric standards. One only when on their native earth. And one
of them would not have been able to recover from the injuries you have
received. As for the second, I've met members of that branch and you
don't feel like they do. Or like a member of the first branch I
mentioned either. The samples I've had tested survived sunlight, holy
water and crosses. A little weakened by their experiences, but still
intact."
Jean-Claude just shook his head slightly before continuing
on in a tone of barely restrained curiosity. "Then there is your
aura. You're new dead, child, but you feel different then anything
I have ever sensed before. And I can feel you as I feel Robert and
all the other vampires I have created. Assuming what your killer
did to you does not cause you to rise as an animalistic vampire,
you could prove to be quite useful to me or, at least, entertaining."
Jean-Claude just shrugged and bowed to the unmoving form on
the bed before continuing on in a brisker tone of voice. "Well, we'll
know more tomorrow night, won't we? I'm afraid I must leave you now,
a businessman's work is never truly done." With that he left the
room in a smooth, gliding walk.
Seconds after Jean-Claude closed the door the overhead
fluorescent light turned off and the clanking sounds of metal on metal
could be heard in the room. The oppressive, waiting silence fell once
more across the room. Not that there was anyone there to notice its
triumphant return.
***
Darkness. Silence. No-smell. Peace.
Sharp-pointy-no-darkness. Smell fear. Hear cries.
Warm-flesh-prey!
Wait! Hunters! Two. One short, scared, less powerful, no
threat. Other tall, no-scent-emotion, power... Can't sense power!
Threat! Attack! Kill!!!
Sorry, so sorry! Tall-black-white-power Pack Leader. Did not
know! Forgive!
Small one follow Pack Leader? Small one pack member. No
threat.
Prey gift of Pack Leader? I feed on gift? Yes!
Warm-fresh-blood!
***
Until he died, again, Willie McCoy would undoubtedly remember
what he had seen earlier. And, as a vampire, he had seem a lot.
Hell, even before he had made the six-foot dive he had seen more then
most do. He might have only been an errand boy for St. Louis's
less-then-legal citizens, but you still saw things with that crowd.
Mind you, it wasn't the scariest thing he'd ever seen. But it was
still up there.
One second, nothing. The next, the kid's up and staring at
one very frightened goat. He'd been all... well, vampiric. Skin
like white marble with the slightest hint of pink to it. Veins
showing like trenches filled with blue flames. His eyes no longer had
whites, they were just dark amber spheres with ebon pits at their
centers. His flesh had pulled tight over his bones, exposing teeth
and fangs. His hunger had rolled through the room, touching all that
existed in it.
The goat, understandably, made a mess on the plastics that
had been put over the vanilla carpeting in the room. Then the kid
had noticed them, and went totally ape.
Instantly he was facing them, not the chained animal. His
movements were smoother then possible for any human and the speed!
He was now crouched low to the ground, ready to spring, pounce and
kill. His mouth was twisted with rage as a snarl rumbled from his
throat, as he visibly sized up both Willie and Jean-Claude.
Willie had shivered involuntarily when their eyes had met.
Their was no one at home in them. There were no thought or emotions
in them, just a Beast. Something that recognized Willie as a fellow
predator and would gladly kill him to protect its territory. And
Willie had no illusions on his odds of beating the kid, he could feel
him in his mind, just as he would with any other vampire. Willie
could feel the power contained in the form before him, and knew he
was outmatched. The kid knew that too, as he had turned his attention
to Jean-Claude, almost as if he held Willie in contempt. And then
he had stiffened as the snarl cut off like a switch had been thrown.
And Willie could smell what he was feeling as he silently stared,
wild-eyed, at Jean-Claude. He smelled of fear.
Then, with a scream that no one would have called human, he
threw himself at Jean-Claude. And, a split second later, finished
his backwards flight to hit one of the grey stone walls. Hard.
Before Willie could even blink Jean-Claude was there, forcing the
kid's arms above his head with one hand and using the other to force
the kid to look him in the eye. The kid struggled furiously to free
himself for a few moments, without any success. Then, suddenly he
had suddenly stiffened up for a second before slumping down dejectedly
to the plastic covered floor, as Jean-Claude had let go of him. But
his eyes remained locked with those of Jean-Claude's.
Then with another impossibly quick movement, for a human, the
kid was pulling the goat's head back with one hand before plunging
his head forward, piercing its flesh with his fangs as the goat cried
out in pain and terror. Then the only sound in the room was the
sound of swallowing. Willie didn't doubt for a second that the poor
beast had been utterly drained of blood before the kid let it fall to
the floor and curled up in the furthest corner of the room.
Then Jean-Claude had calmly turned to him and said that the
kid would have to be `forced back into himself', whatever that meant,
if he was to be anything other then an animalistic vampire. A vampire
that can only be controlled by the Master vampire that brought it
over, a vampire with an animal's mind. And, Jean-Claude had
continued, if it was to be done at all, it had to be done tonight. So
he had ordered Willie to wait outside and not to let anyone in before
he was finished. Seconds after Willie had shut the door behind him
the screams had begun to penetrate the door into the hallway he was
now in. Screams that had continued, practically non-stop, for the
last half hour.
Willie McCoy had no wish whatsoever to open the door he had
been told to guard, even without Jean-Claude's order. He already had
enough folder for nightmares, thank you very much. And Jean-Claude
had already told the others that he was not to be disturbed unless
it was something truly important. So no one came to find out why
someone in the below ground portion of the Circus of The Damned was
screaming.
And screaming.
And screaming.
***
To be continued in Part 2 of Chapter 3.
