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 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.