"Ever Feel Like You Might Be a Vampire?"
Jan. 21st, 2025 10:36 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
dochermes"Ever Feel Like You Might Be a Vampire?"
12/20/2024
I.
In a leased cherry-red Toyota Camry, Jeremy Bane sped north along State Route 1. Before dropping him off in California, Unicorn had told him that there was in fact no Ventura Highway as such, but Route 1 did have an exit to the city of Ventura. This had meant nothing to Bane. He never listened to music or watched movies or TV. He read no fiction, only factual material he needed to know. The Dire Wolf was so focused on his lifelong crusade that he had completely missed out on enjoying any entertainment. Unicorn had shrugged her shoulders and given up on trying to get him to at least have music playing for background noise.
Less than a week before Christmas, it was sixty-seven degrees out, with a fresh breeze blowing in from the ocean visible to his left. By coincidence, Bane himself was also sixty-seven that year. The silver strands were more visible in his black hair and the infamous grey eyes had deeper crow's-feet at their corners, but Bane was still lean and agile. He still moved with decisive energy. He would always be the Dire Wolf.
And it seems he would never escape the Midnight War. Officially, he had retired a decade earlier, closing the Dire Wolf Agency and buying a house in Forest Hills. If he had seriously expected a quiet peaceful era, he was disillusioned. At least every few weeks, someone would come to him for help or he would hear about some bizarre inexplicable threat somewhere, and off into the violent night he would go. No client, no fee, he did this because it was his nature. He had come to accept it.
An overhead sign explained the different exits ahead. Bane swung right, and headed for the resort town of New Corona. That was not his goal. Only a short distance inward, he slowed before a hard-packed dirt road and saw a stone slab propped up on the ground. Written on its surface in bright crimson letters was CHILDREN OF THE NIGHT and beneath that, ENTER FREELY IF YOU BE SINCERE. The Dire Wolf took a deep breath and felt the old familiar adrenalin jolt run through him. The hunt was on again.
For more than a mile, he drove up the dirt road with nothing but dry dead grass on either side, a few straggly trees struggling to survive. If this property had ever been developed, no signs remained in sight. Cresting over a slight rise, he caught sight of one of the most incongruous buildings to be seen in Southern California. A classic Victorian mansion three stories high, painted off-white, it had gabled windows, a widow's walk, an exterior red brick chimney and a windsock flying from a short tower on the rear of the roof. Nearby was an open white and red gazebo. Parked on a stretch of crushed shale were eight cars which ranged from a new Nissan hybrid to a rust-holed Dodge pick-up.
With a barely visible wry smile, the Dire Wolf pulled his leased car over to an empty area and got out. In his trademark uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket, he somehow looked ominous even in the bright afternoon sunlight. Despite a serious lack of a sense of humor, Bane was amused that this Gothic recreation did not have peeling paint, sagging roof, broken windows or dangling shutters. It was fresh and new.
The Dire Wolf stepped up onto the wide front porch. Beside the door, a swinging bench hung on two chains and a potted aloe plant was thriving. Before he could ring the bell, the door swung open and a young woman peered myopically out at him. "Mr Bane?"
"Yes." The combination of his private detective experience and his Kumundu martial arts took in every detail in a flash. She was very young, no more than twenty, five feet six and slender verging on thin. Naturally pale skin contrasted with the gleaming ebony hair that hung straight down her back, and the dark eyes matched the black lipstick. The girl wore a black leotard with an open black shirt over it, and was barefoot. Bane noted every visible mole and freckle, memorized the whorls of her ears and noted what her shoe size would be. This was all so automatic that he was hardly aware of it. Weeks later, he would able to remember these minute details and pick her out of a line-up.
"Welcome," she said in a husky voice. "I am Moonshadow. Ebonwing has been expecting you."
"Thank you," he said, stepping into the doorway. He wondered if he was wasting his time. This living girl was not Undead in the slightest. Bane had fought and destroyed enough genuine vampires in his career to be sure of that.
II.
He was led through a high-ceilinged room crammed with period decor. A Tiffany lamp, overstuffed easy chairs, a long chintz sofa, a stone-mantled fireplace with an oil painting of rugged mountains. There was no TV or sound system, but in one corner stood a vintage piano with a gold candelabra on it. Bane raised his estimate of how much loot this cult or scam was raking in.
As he followed the girl who called herself Moonshadow, the Dire Wolf scowled. On their sheaths under his jacket sleeves, the matched silver daggers were growing warmer. They were warning him that malevolent gralic force was nearby. There was a real menace here after all.
A gleaming central staircase of polished mahogany led up to the second floor. To the staircase's left was an unmarked door on which Moonshadow rapped with her knuckles. "Mr Bane is here."
The late 1800s motif was not completely carried through in the office. Heavy curtains over the window, yellow wallpaper with a flower pattern, bookcases with matching sets of the great authors. But on the massive oak desk was an open Hewlett-Packard laptop and a smartphone was charging with a cord in the computer's USB. Ebonwing rose to greet his visitor, saying "Please, have a seat."
Bane immediately felt a venomous dislike for the man.
Ebonwing looked to be of college age, twenty-two at most. He was thin, with underdeveloped chest and straight arms. He was wearing black trousers and a black polo shirt with the collar popped. Ebonwing was classically handsome, almost pretty, with dark hair that had been carefully tended to look as if it hadn't been cut. The smiling man was definitely wearing mascara and lipstick.
But, pulling up a chair, the Dire Wolf made an effort not to react rashly. Give the guy a fair chance. The older Bane got, the more he found young people annoying. It was a bias he wanted to watch out for.
He saw Moonshadow sit down at a slight angle to him, folding her hands in her lap and fixing an adoring gaze on Ebonwing.
"There is so much to talk about," the founder of Children of the Night began. "First, what do you know about our little community?"
"Very little that I can confirm," Bane replied. "Two friends said I might be interested. I went to your YouTube channel and watched the video that begins with Moonshadow here asking, 'Ever feel you might be a vampire?' I was intrigued. I started doing research about your group and decided it was worth flying out to California to meet you in person."
Ebonwing leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. "Yes. After you phoned to set up a meeting, I naturally looked online about you. Bro! Honestly, I don't know why you're not world-wide f
amous. First, you were a detective who captured a dozen infamous serial killers. Samhain, Quilt, Golgora, Sepulchre. Dang! I give you mad props."
"It was work worth doing," Bane said.
"But, bro, that's not the best part. A long time ago, you set up something called the Kenneth Dred Foundation. It was supposed to just do research into mysterious sightings and publish books debunking them. But the more I dug, the weirder things got. I kept finding small references to your KDF throwing hands with the real supernatural. Werewolves, zombies, Black Magic covens, men with rattlesnake fangs and men with the skull faces. And it seemed that your KDF was always in the area for tons of unexplained explosions, buildings burning down, piles of dead people." Ebonwing leaned forward and pointed an accusing finger at his guest, "And seeing you in the flesh, I can believe it! You look dangerous as hell. I get the feeling that the wild stories about you aren't half of what you've done."
Bane did not visibly react. He simply said, "I stepped down from the KDF and I closed my PI agency. I've been retired for almost ten years now."
"Aha, you're not denying anything! I knew it. Mr Bane, I want to know how you feel about vampires?"
The Dire Wolf said, "You two are not actual vampires. You have both been breathing even when I'm looking away from you." He turned to Moonshadow and asked her to give him her hand. "Yes. Skin at normal temperature. Pulse a little fast, I'd say one hundred even. Fingernails regain color after being pressed. You are a living human being."
For some reason, this was making Ebonwing grin. "Go on, bro, go on, what else?"
"Of course, vampires do retain Human servants or slaves to guard them during the day and to handle mundane chores. There's no reason why you two couldn't be the familiars of some Undead. But I want to say that nowhere in your videos or your website do you come right out and claim to be genuine vampires. The language is careful. You promise to help those who join to live a vampire way of life. So to speak."
"Yeah, legal reasons for that," Ebonwing admitted. "But bear with me a moment. Suppose, just suppose, that Children of the Night is about more than fashion statements and having morbid tastes. What if we really did turn some of our group into literal vampires? What would you do?"
Bane's pale grey eyes were cold and unfriendly at best. Now as the thick brows lowered, those eyes became frightening. "Why should I lie about it? You've studied my career. Do you think I haven't driven stakes into a few Undead chests?"
Despite his efforts to appear cool and superior, Ebonwing could not keep a trace of fear out of his voice. "Mr Bane, be honest with me. Why are you here?"
"I want to write a book about your community. Probably not that big, maybe two hundred pages. I still contribute to KDF publishing. So, some interviews, a selection of publicity photos. That's all." But Bane was not telling the truth. The silver daggers were getting painfully hot against his forearms. Nearby was a hate-filled presence aching to kill and he intend to crush it.
III.
Ebonwing agreed to a ninety-minute interview to be held on Skype in two days. Bane said he would record and transcribe it, and Ebonwing would be given a copy to make annotations and corrections on. Books published by the KDF were usually limited to one thousand numbered copies which were not available online or sold in stories. Most copies were given to Midnight War historians. Ebonwing would receive twenty free copies to distribute as he saw fit.
At that point, the phone rang and Ebonwing said he had to place an order with their food delivery service. He pulled a clipboard holding lists and invoices from his desk and asked Moonshadow to escort the visitor out. On their way through the living room, the girl seemed to forget her affected morbid pose and did some subtle flirting. She might as well have been trying to get a rock wall's attention. At the door, Bane asked if she would like to do a separate interview about her vampire life and she promptly agreed. He thanked her and stepped outside.
Once back in the leased car, Bane unclipped the Link from his belt and checked the readings it had taken while he was in the mansion. A quick browsing showed the Trom device's scanners had detected six additional life forms in the floors above. Heat signatures, sounds of breathing and footsteps were all well within average range. There were no moving forms with bodies at room temperature. No vampires, just Humans cosplaying vampires. The Link had also recorded all the license plates as he had walked past the cars. A good amount of data to start the investigation with.
Pulling back out onto the paved road, Bane headed toward the town of Corona. Well before he reached it, he spotted an odd looking motel with a neon sign that read OMEGA ROOMS. Below was a plain wooden placard, CABLE TV - AC - POOL. The buildings were for some inexplicable reason built in a horseshoe with the parking lot in the open space. It seemed to Bane that this construction would mean a lot of wasted space but that was not his concern. Across the highway was a chrome and silver diner, which would be convenient. The Dire Wolf went into the manager's office and rented a room for the next six days, receiving two electronic key cards.
Parking the car in front of Room 16, the Dire Wolf found he was next to two vending machines which dispensed cold beverages and junk food snacks. He got the travel knapsack from the back seat and brought it in with him. The room itself was unremarkable except for the odd coloring scheme where everything was in shades of brown and gold. Well, it was a matter of taste, he supposed. Bane used the bathroom, then went over to the small writing desk under the window and sat down to begin studying his Link.
He had two text messages. One was from Unicorn. She had sent him albums from Paige Polar, Scarab, the Plungers and Courtney McKenna. There was a note, 'Play these while you're driving. There WILL be a quiz. Your favorite Tel Shai knight, Ashley Anne Whitaker.'
The other was from Lauren Sable Reilly, captain of the KDF team. 'Standing by. Is there anything I can help out with?'
Bane immediately sent her all the information on her Link and asked if she would start tracking down who those plates were registered with. He knew she was immensely better at that sort of work than he was. Impatience was his biggest weak spot but it was so much a part of his personality that he couldn't change it. Sable was so conscientous that he could rely on her to do a thorough job.
Stripping off his clothing and tossing it on the double bed, the Dire Wolf stood revealed in what looked like a tight bodysuit of dark wet silk. Only his feet, hands and head were exposed. This was the Trom armor which dispersed impact over its entire surface. A shot from a high-powered rifle felt like a dull thump which didn't even leave a bruise. Feet together, fists at his waist, Bane bowed to his Teacher Chael at Tel Shai, farther away than miles could measure.
Devised for him individually by Chael and frequently revised, the DohRa form began as a series of stretching poses which sped up until he was snapping through rapid punches, kicks, blows and throws against imaginary opponents. Forty minutes later, he slowed again as he returned to the cool-down phases of stances. Bane scowled.
To any observer, he would have seemed a terrifyingly fast blur of deadly motion. But lately he had become dissatisfied with his performance. His strikes were not quite as crisp, his balance not as perfect, his stances not as effortless as they had been no too long ago. And his breathing was slightly faster at the end. He had visibly passed his peak. Well, that was inevitable, time passed for everyone, even for Tel Shai knights.
He didn't have to like it.
Going into the bathroom, he shrugged out of the silk-thin armor and turned it inside out. As he took a steaming hot shower, he rinsed the armor inner surface as well and hung it up on the door to dry. Rubbing a towel roughly over himself, the Dire Wolf examined himself critically in the full-length mirror. He had the build of a runner, with long highly-defined muscles. He did not see any thickening around the waist or softening of the abs. Even the skin under his jawline was still taut. Any other man nearing seventy would have been delighted to be built like that but once Bane started seeing decline, he could not be satisfied.
Dressing again with a fresh shirt, Bane stepped outside and ran across the highway to the THREE BROTHERS DINER. He ordered two turkey dinners with mashed potatoes and gravy, mixed vegetables and blueberry cobbler, then requested they be in a to-go bag. Back in the motel room, he fought his natural tendency to plow through food. He slowed down, making a point to taste each item. Finally, feeling cleaned and fueled up, he stretched out on the bed and mentally reviewed every detail of his visit to the Children of the Night.
The inevitable conclusion was that somewhere in that building was a very old and powerful Undead, perhaps one of the highest ranking Vampire Lords, pulling the strings that controlled the cult. Whether by mystic mind control or simple intimidation didn't really matter. He had a clear target for the night.
Bane checked his Link and found a report from Sable about the owners of the cars at the mansion. She listed full names, ages, addresses, criminal records if any, going into great detail. But at the end, she helpfully added a brief summary of what she found significant. Each of the wanna-be vampires was under thirty, rather pretentious and "a spoiled brat." Ebonwing's legal name was Wesley Lewis Hall from Boston and Moonshadow was actually Sullivan Shea of San Jose. Most important, each member of the community came from a wealthy family and could make substantial donations. The cult was shoveling money in faster than it could spend it.
Bane sent Sable a thank you text and suggested they should keep each other up to date on developments. Another message from Unicorn appeared. When he clicked on it, a video began to play showing Ashley i a wicker chair with an acoustic guitar. Bane sat through her clear high tenor version of Paige Polar's song "I Am Trying To Break Your Heart." He expected a message at the end, but it closed with her giving an ironic salute with two fingers to an eyebrow. She was one of the few people who could make him actually smile.
One last prep to make. From the knapsack he took out his field suit. All black, it consisted of boots, slacks and waist-length jacket of tough-leather like material and the helmet with its retractable visor. He had loaded the dozen concealed slits and pouches with appropriate Trom-designed gadgets. He carried many little weapons and tools daily, but they were selected with the current mission in mind. This assortment for a vampire confrontation was entirely different from the variety used for a stand-off with armed gunmen or with a Black Magic sect.
Tonight he had brought the leather bandolier which had six loops holding ash stakes five inches long, sharpened at one end and weighted with a metal band for throwing. He hadn't used these since that long battle with Nancy Sinister. With the field suit ready, he got on the bed, turned off the lights and stretched out on his back. It was eight-thirty. He began the Tel Shai deep breathing cycle, relaxing his body and emptying his conscious mind. Bane promptly sank into sleep, waiting for midnight.
IV.
At ten minutes to two on a warm night, Moonshadow snuck out the rear door of the mansion, went over to hide herself by the side of the shed which held the ride-on lawnmower, rakes and shovels and other tools. A flare of light showed her face for a second as she lit up a Kool Light. The blessed relief of a nicotine hit made her sigh. She stretched the experience out as long as possible but eventually shev had to flip the butt to the ground and crush it out under her slipper. Back to bed...
What felt like a steel clamp closed around her lower face, binding her jaw up so she couldn't scream. Another irresistible bond tightened around her waist and lifted her bodily off the ground. Her flailing legs couldn't connect with anything. The loudest noise she could make was a muffled grunt. Moonshadow realized with shock that someone was carrying her away at a run, holding her up in the air as if she weighed nothing at all. She was lowered to the base of a solitary palm tree fifty yards from the mansion, rather gently considering the circumstances.
For the first time, she got a good look at the helmeted figure in some sort of dark commando suit who was holding her. Then a familiar voice whispered, "Shhh. I'm not going to hurt you. I needed to get you away to warn you."
The grip on her face eased up. She gasped, "Mr Bane?"
"Yes. Keep your voice low. I don't know if you realize how much danger you're in."
"My God, you're strong. You carried me like I was a rag doll. Whatever you wanted to do, I couldn't stop you..."
"I'm not here to hurt you," he repeated. "Listen. Have you ever seen the secret Master who gives Ebonwing his orders?"
"You know about that? How? They haven't even told ME outright, I've just kind of guessed from all the hints and clues."
"It's my job. It's what I do. Sullivan, where does this secret Master stay?"
"Sullivan...? Whoa, Mr Bane, how do you know my name? No, never mind, I'll tell you. He must be in the basement. That's the only place that's always locked."
In the gloom of that starry night, Bane was barely visible in his black field suit. "That makes sense.
Coffins can be hidden down there. Is there an inside door to the basement?"
"Yes. In the kitchen. It's in the wall by the sink. Let me up, okay, I won't try to run."
"In a minute." Bane leaned closer. "I need to warn you about what you're doing. Vampires are not good-looking Emo poets with tormented souls. Not at all. They're walking corpses that rip throats open to drink blood. They smell like rotting meat. Most don't have enough brain function left to unlock a door or change their clothes. If you meet a real vampire, you won't live long enough to realize how wrong your romantic ideas about them are."
Despite the fact she had been abducted by force and was being held down against a palm tree in the middle of the night, Moonshadow had become remarkably calm. "Yeah. If you say so. For me, it's a statement, I love the aesthetic. You have to admit, it's a great look."
"I'm telling you this from concern for your safety, Sullivan. Sooner or later, they're going to feed on you. It'll be ugly." He held up a steel needle. "Right now, you're going to sleep out here away from the violence. When you wake up, you'll feel weak and nauseous for ten or fifteen minutes. Don't worry, that will pass. When you feel better, get in your car and drive away."
Before Moonshadow could protest, she felt a sharp sting in the side of her neck. Within a second, she was groggy and then passed out. Bane secured the anesthetic dart to its case in a jacket pocket. Normally, he shot the darts from the CO2 powered pistol but they were useful for moments like this. He waited a minute to be sure Moonshadow was breathing normally and that she was propped up against the tree. So far as he knew this far, she hadn't committed any crimes. Even if she had, it was better to err on the side of leniency.
As he had stole onto the property from the rear, Bane had been using the telescopic function of his helmet's visor to check for sentries. None were apparent. Before leaving the unconscious Moonshadow, he turned up the audio function and spent ten minutes listening suspiciously. Nothing. The only lighted windows were at the front of the house. Thermal imaging showed him eleven moving heat sources, all clustered together on the ground floor, all staying close to each other.
The Dire Wolf thumbed his left earpod and the visor slid up into its internal track. From here on, he preferred to rely on his own natural senses. On his narrow face was an expression of feral eagerness.
He headed for the rear of the house. Strangely, he simply walked across the yard in plain view. His entrance an hour earlier had been a textbook example of silent stealth to minimize exposure. But now he seemed to have dismissed the furtive approach.
Moonshadow had left the door unlocked, of course, since she had been only going outside for a quick smoke. Bane swung the screen door open, turned the knob on the inner door and stepped into dimly illuminated space. He took four steps before men were beating him furiously with steel pipes and baseball bats.
V.
Anyone who knew Jeremy Bane would have been baffled and alarmed by how little resistance he put up. Instead of his usual ferocious storm of punches and kicks, he barely threw a few blows before getting beaten down to the floor. The attackers slammed their short heavy pipes as hard as they possibly could, even after Bane was stretched out flat and unmoving. It was only when arms grew tired and they were panting from the exertion that they slowed down and eventually stopped.
"That's enough," said Ebonwing with gloating in his voice. "Her Highness wants him alive. You two, Silence and Nightfall, pick him up by the arms and legs and we can bring him down to the throne."
As he spoke, he flipped a wall switch and lamps went on to reveal they were in a short hallway opening to a kitchen.
Five young men and two young women, all in their twenties, all well dressed and all well groomed, stiood around the motionless figure on the floor. The Children of the Night still held baseball bats, lead pipes, at least one large wrench and one carpenter's hammer. Ebonwing directed them to carry Bane into the kitchen. A door in one corner opened to reveal steep concrete steps leading down. Ebonwing paused. "Whatever happened to Moonshadow? Listen, Darkchild, Blacksleep, you two go find her. Be careful, this guy might have brought an accomplice with him."
Bane was carried down to a large furnished basement with brick floor and wood-paneled walls. A red-tinted bulb in a glass bowl overhead gave a lurid hellish tint to the light. Pushed up against the walls were some chairs and a round card-playing table, leaving most of the floor space open.
On a high-backed chair carved of mahogany sat a ghastly figure. Not much larger than a ten year old child, thin as a victim of war crimes, she was wrapped in a robe of thin red silk faced with gold trim. Florina Jonescu irresistibly inspired thoughts of a vulture. The head was bald except for some vague stubble around the ears and nape. The prominent hooked nose curved down to meet a thin-lipped mouth and lantern jaw. Under vestigial eyebrows, eyes with red irises narrowed as the cult assembled before her.
"Place him in that chair," she snapped in a harsh, brittle voice. Hands with fingers long and bony as talons worked hungrily at the air. Stand on either side of him." The cultists hurried to prop the limp form up on a sturdy wooden chair they had brought forward. On her command, they hurriedly searched Bane. The first thing they came up with was a long-barreled .38 Smith & Wesson revolver in a clip-on holster. Manhandling him out of the jacket, the Children of the Night found eight miniature devices were extracted from inner pockets and slits in its interior. Finally, at her urging, the young men tugged up the sleeves of his black crewneck shirt to reveal an odd mass of spongy plastic on each forearm.
"And there they are!" hissed Jonescu. "The cursed daggers of ensalir. Silver blessed by the immortal Eldanarin themselves. Hold them up, my boys, so that I might get a better look.... but do not bring them closer."
Each piece of plastic held a sheath which contained a slim-bladed throwing dagger without crossbar, only a flat hilt. Even in the red-tinted light of that basement, those blades gleamed cold and white. Florina Jonescu grinned as she saw them, her shrunken gums revealing elongated upper canines. "The Dire Wolf is clever for a mortal," she laughed. "That molded material feels exactly like Human muscle when squeezed. It is enough to deceive most searchers. But I knew of them! And so I have taken the most effective weapons our enemy has."
At this point, Bane took deeper breaths and raised his head. The cultists had removed his helmet, showing it had protected his head from the assault. The narrow predatory face was unmarked. The grey eyes fixed on the elder vampire with a calm fearless focus.
"I can tell you were not seriously harmed," she said. "Your breathing is steady. Why didn't you put up a better fight? Where was the Kumundu master everyone fears? I believe you allowed yourself to be captured."
The Dire Wolf made no reply. He did not try to pull loose from the hands holding his arms, and he did not shift his weight or fidget about. Bane sat as casually as if leafing through a menu.
"Why have you done this, Mr Bane?"
"Florina Jonescu. At last!" said the Dire Wolf. "Tracking down you Vampire Lords is not easy. You've had hundreds of years to learn good hiding places."
"So, we know of each other."
"And to answer your question, I let myself be taken, sure. I thought that if you heard a brawl upstairs that you might make a run for it. If you thought I was helpless, you'd be bold enough to want some answers."
"Really. I see." The withered little figure on the throne was hunched over with age so that it could not have fully straightened up no matter what. "Capturing you gives me great satisfaction, Dire Wolf. We vampires have not had such a persistent enemy since the days of Bleak. Mr Bane, I have learned the secret of Tagra. Your blood is saturated with the rare mint which gives great powers of healing, of strength and longevity."
Again, Bane made no comment. He seemed unmoved by his situation. The Children of the Night had spread out into a loose circle around him, still holding on to their improvised weapons. A few of them were trying to appear tough and hard, but all kept staring in obvious horror at Jonescu. Bane thought that Moonshadow had at least been telling the truth about one thing... few of the Children had ever seen the ancient creature who ruled them.
Continuing, Jonescu said, "Maybe your blood will have some beneficial effect on me. It is worth a try. I will keep you alive, Jeremy Bane, partaking of your blood but not enough that you might die. There is some irony in the thought of turning the Dire Wolf into a vampire but I would not want to face such an enemy."
"Are you the only Vampire Lord in America?"
The ancient creature thrust her head forward on a thin neck in a buzzard-like pose. "What? Why even ask such a question?"
"Force of habit," he said. "So, neat racket you're running here. As far as I can tell, only three of your little family here are vampires themselves. The rest are living Humans. You're dangling the promise of Turning them if they serve well enough. Being Undead means basic immortality, freedom from disease or aging, even shape-shifting. It looks the hints in your video are honest, after all."
"It matters not to you!" she spat. "You will never be free again. Perhaps I will sell off samples of your blood, if it proves to have benefits. My peers on the Council have wealth to spare. Wait. Bring those knives closer, Blackchild."
Unnoticed by even those staring at him, Bane had let his arms droop down until his hands were touching the tops of his boots. Instead of terror, his expression was of barely restrained eagerness.
"The silver does not repel me as much as it should," Jonescu said, letting the two daggers come within reach. "Ensalir... silver of the Eldanarin... should give me great pain and weakness this close. What does this mean?"
"It means those are just steel knives with a thin coating of silver," Bane said quietly. He leaped to his feet, shrugging off the hands holding him. From inside his boots, he had drawn out the genuine silver daggers.
VI.
The Dire Wolf stabbed out left and right, sliding a dagger into the bodies of the vampires who had been holding him. As soon as the blades pierced them, the Undead sagged and fell apart into vile gelatinous muck. It didn't matter where the wounds were made. When the edge of those ensorcelled blades broke the skin, the maleficent spell reanimating them was dispersed.
The crowd was just beginning to react, as the sudden burst of violence had swamped their perceptions. Bane swerved, heading to pounce on the Vampire Lord who was creaking up on to her feet but he was tackled headlong by the remaining vampire slave. They slammed down to the chilly cement floor. The Dire Wolf was up again instantly, but the Undead was collapsing into a sodden mass.
By then, the Children of the Night had recovered their wits. They raised their lead pipes and baseball bats, drawing closer toward the man in black. But they froze motionless. These were pampered sons and daughters of the wealthy. None had ever been in a real fistfight, much less a struggle for life or death stakes. They saw how Bane had moved. They saw his crouching posture with the two daggers ready. In those pale eyes was neither anger nor fear. Those eyes held the calm concentration with which a cat regards a mouse.
They dropped their weapons with a clatter and ran up the stairs in complete panic, getting in each other's way and screaming. Only the vampire's lieutenant Ebonwing stood his ground, waving a short-handled axe in both hands. He was breathing from emotion as heavily as if he had been running for miles.
"How are you not hurt?" he demanded. "We were beating you hard as we possibly could."
Bane did not explain. Between the advanced Trom armor and his enhanced healing factor, the assault had only left him bruised and sore for a few minutes. He lowered his knives, keeping both Jonescu and Ebonwing in sight.
"Run, my Lady!" yelled Ebonwing. "I'll hold him off." He took one step before the bottom of a boot exploded against the center of his chest, hurling him back against the wall behind him. His heart missed a beat from the impact and the air was driven out of his lungs. From the way he fell, the wanna-be vampire would not be getting up again for quite a while.
Bane swiveled to confront Jonescu, who had wilted visibly. She lowered herself down to the throne again. Putting up a brave front, she folded her withered hands and waited.
"I don't think you're really a Vampire Lord," the Dire Wolf said. "You haven't tried hypnosis on me. You haven't shape-shifted. You didn't even order your cult to swarm me. I expect powers like that from the Lords."
"It's true," she admitted. "I have not been admitted to the Council. Four hundred years have I stalked the night, but it's not enough for them."
Bane moved toward her, still wielding the silver daggers. He had not expected such reluctance now that he was going to destroy her. He had never been able to execute a helpless prisoner, that was just not in him. He knew she was not a living breathing Human, she was an ancient monster who must have killed thousands of innocent victims over the centuries. But, still, to strike down what seemed to be a defenseless old lady bothered him.
When he came within reach, he saw as if for the first time those yellowing pointed fangs in the upper jaw, the glare of bloodthirsty hatred, the skin wrinkled as an apple dried in the sun. The vampire stank with the odor of a dead mouse stuck in the walls of a house. Bane took a breath. His arm whistled in a backstroke that slid the razor-sharp dagger across her throat.
Jonescu fell inward, collapsing into dust and powder, with only a few fragments still retaining a recognizable shape. With the lifting of her curse, the oppressive heaviness lifted from the air. Bane straightened with a feeling of immense relief.
"I'm calling the cops! I'm calling the cops!" Ebonwing shouted. "You're going to jail for murder. 911! 911!" Although he had recovered enough breath to yell, he didn't seem able to rise yet.
The Dire Wolf unhurriedly went over to a side table which held his jacket and effects. He tugged up his sleeves and strapped the sheaths back to his forearms, sliding the silver daggers. The field suit jacket went on next, then he picked up the helmet. There were no cracks on its surface, just scuff marks and one dent. Finally, he inspected the gas-powered dart gun before holstering it behind his left hip.
Turning to find Ebonwing fumbling hopelessly with trembling fingers at a phone, Bane said, "Forget about calling the local police. The FBI will be taking over. Since you Children of the Night set up this commune, there has been a huge increase in missing persons reports within a hundred mile radius. My bet is that you'll be found an accessory to some of them... for bringing victims to Florina Jonescu."
The young man tried to get up, gingerly touching his chest. "You broke something. It hurts when I breath."
"Department 21 Black always brings a pair of EMTs," Bane said. "By now, all your friends are running away from here as fast as they can. You're left behind to take the fall."
"This was something beautiful," said Ebonwing. "Our Lady had wisdom and grace that would save this fallen world. You don't understand why we served her. This was something beautiful."
"You're right about one thing," Bane replied. "I don't understand."
1/21/2025
12/20/2024
I.
In a leased cherry-red Toyota Camry, Jeremy Bane sped north along State Route 1. Before dropping him off in California, Unicorn had told him that there was in fact no Ventura Highway as such, but Route 1 did have an exit to the city of Ventura. This had meant nothing to Bane. He never listened to music or watched movies or TV. He read no fiction, only factual material he needed to know. The Dire Wolf was so focused on his lifelong crusade that he had completely missed out on enjoying any entertainment. Unicorn had shrugged her shoulders and given up on trying to get him to at least have music playing for background noise.
Less than a week before Christmas, it was sixty-seven degrees out, with a fresh breeze blowing in from the ocean visible to his left. By coincidence, Bane himself was also sixty-seven that year. The silver strands were more visible in his black hair and the infamous grey eyes had deeper crow's-feet at their corners, but Bane was still lean and agile. He still moved with decisive energy. He would always be the Dire Wolf.
And it seems he would never escape the Midnight War. Officially, he had retired a decade earlier, closing the Dire Wolf Agency and buying a house in Forest Hills. If he had seriously expected a quiet peaceful era, he was disillusioned. At least every few weeks, someone would come to him for help or he would hear about some bizarre inexplicable threat somewhere, and off into the violent night he would go. No client, no fee, he did this because it was his nature. He had come to accept it.
An overhead sign explained the different exits ahead. Bane swung right, and headed for the resort town of New Corona. That was not his goal. Only a short distance inward, he slowed before a hard-packed dirt road and saw a stone slab propped up on the ground. Written on its surface in bright crimson letters was CHILDREN OF THE NIGHT and beneath that, ENTER FREELY IF YOU BE SINCERE. The Dire Wolf took a deep breath and felt the old familiar adrenalin jolt run through him. The hunt was on again.
For more than a mile, he drove up the dirt road with nothing but dry dead grass on either side, a few straggly trees struggling to survive. If this property had ever been developed, no signs remained in sight. Cresting over a slight rise, he caught sight of one of the most incongruous buildings to be seen in Southern California. A classic Victorian mansion three stories high, painted off-white, it had gabled windows, a widow's walk, an exterior red brick chimney and a windsock flying from a short tower on the rear of the roof. Nearby was an open white and red gazebo. Parked on a stretch of crushed shale were eight cars which ranged from a new Nissan hybrid to a rust-holed Dodge pick-up.
With a barely visible wry smile, the Dire Wolf pulled his leased car over to an empty area and got out. In his trademark uniform of black slacks, turtleneck and sport jacket, he somehow looked ominous even in the bright afternoon sunlight. Despite a serious lack of a sense of humor, Bane was amused that this Gothic recreation did not have peeling paint, sagging roof, broken windows or dangling shutters. It was fresh and new.
The Dire Wolf stepped up onto the wide front porch. Beside the door, a swinging bench hung on two chains and a potted aloe plant was thriving. Before he could ring the bell, the door swung open and a young woman peered myopically out at him. "Mr Bane?"
"Yes." The combination of his private detective experience and his Kumundu martial arts took in every detail in a flash. She was very young, no more than twenty, five feet six and slender verging on thin. Naturally pale skin contrasted with the gleaming ebony hair that hung straight down her back, and the dark eyes matched the black lipstick. The girl wore a black leotard with an open black shirt over it, and was barefoot. Bane noted every visible mole and freckle, memorized the whorls of her ears and noted what her shoe size would be. This was all so automatic that he was hardly aware of it. Weeks later, he would able to remember these minute details and pick her out of a line-up.
"Welcome," she said in a husky voice. "I am Moonshadow. Ebonwing has been expecting you."
"Thank you," he said, stepping into the doorway. He wondered if he was wasting his time. This living girl was not Undead in the slightest. Bane had fought and destroyed enough genuine vampires in his career to be sure of that.
II.
He was led through a high-ceilinged room crammed with period decor. A Tiffany lamp, overstuffed easy chairs, a long chintz sofa, a stone-mantled fireplace with an oil painting of rugged mountains. There was no TV or sound system, but in one corner stood a vintage piano with a gold candelabra on it. Bane raised his estimate of how much loot this cult or scam was raking in.
As he followed the girl who called herself Moonshadow, the Dire Wolf scowled. On their sheaths under his jacket sleeves, the matched silver daggers were growing warmer. They were warning him that malevolent gralic force was nearby. There was a real menace here after all.
A gleaming central staircase of polished mahogany led up to the second floor. To the staircase's left was an unmarked door on which Moonshadow rapped with her knuckles. "Mr Bane is here."
The late 1800s motif was not completely carried through in the office. Heavy curtains over the window, yellow wallpaper with a flower pattern, bookcases with matching sets of the great authors. But on the massive oak desk was an open Hewlett-Packard laptop and a smartphone was charging with a cord in the computer's USB. Ebonwing rose to greet his visitor, saying "Please, have a seat."
Bane immediately felt a venomous dislike for the man.
Ebonwing looked to be of college age, twenty-two at most. He was thin, with underdeveloped chest and straight arms. He was wearing black trousers and a black polo shirt with the collar popped. Ebonwing was classically handsome, almost pretty, with dark hair that had been carefully tended to look as if it hadn't been cut. The smiling man was definitely wearing mascara and lipstick.
But, pulling up a chair, the Dire Wolf made an effort not to react rashly. Give the guy a fair chance. The older Bane got, the more he found young people annoying. It was a bias he wanted to watch out for.
He saw Moonshadow sit down at a slight angle to him, folding her hands in her lap and fixing an adoring gaze on Ebonwing.
"There is so much to talk about," the founder of Children of the Night began. "First, what do you know about our little community?"
"Very little that I can confirm," Bane replied. "Two friends said I might be interested. I went to your YouTube channel and watched the video that begins with Moonshadow here asking, 'Ever feel you might be a vampire?' I was intrigued. I started doing research about your group and decided it was worth flying out to California to meet you in person."
Ebonwing leaned back and clasped his hands behind his head. "Yes. After you phoned to set up a meeting, I naturally looked online about you. Bro! Honestly, I don't know why you're not world-wide f
amous. First, you were a detective who captured a dozen infamous serial killers. Samhain, Quilt, Golgora, Sepulchre. Dang! I give you mad props."
"It was work worth doing," Bane said.
"But, bro, that's not the best part. A long time ago, you set up something called the Kenneth Dred Foundation. It was supposed to just do research into mysterious sightings and publish books debunking them. But the more I dug, the weirder things got. I kept finding small references to your KDF throwing hands with the real supernatural. Werewolves, zombies, Black Magic covens, men with rattlesnake fangs and men with the skull faces. And it seemed that your KDF was always in the area for tons of unexplained explosions, buildings burning down, piles of dead people." Ebonwing leaned forward and pointed an accusing finger at his guest, "And seeing you in the flesh, I can believe it! You look dangerous as hell. I get the feeling that the wild stories about you aren't half of what you've done."
Bane did not visibly react. He simply said, "I stepped down from the KDF and I closed my PI agency. I've been retired for almost ten years now."
"Aha, you're not denying anything! I knew it. Mr Bane, I want to know how you feel about vampires?"
The Dire Wolf said, "You two are not actual vampires. You have both been breathing even when I'm looking away from you." He turned to Moonshadow and asked her to give him her hand. "Yes. Skin at normal temperature. Pulse a little fast, I'd say one hundred even. Fingernails regain color after being pressed. You are a living human being."
For some reason, this was making Ebonwing grin. "Go on, bro, go on, what else?"
"Of course, vampires do retain Human servants or slaves to guard them during the day and to handle mundane chores. There's no reason why you two couldn't be the familiars of some Undead. But I want to say that nowhere in your videos or your website do you come right out and claim to be genuine vampires. The language is careful. You promise to help those who join to live a vampire way of life. So to speak."
"Yeah, legal reasons for that," Ebonwing admitted. "But bear with me a moment. Suppose, just suppose, that Children of the Night is about more than fashion statements and having morbid tastes. What if we really did turn some of our group into literal vampires? What would you do?"
Bane's pale grey eyes were cold and unfriendly at best. Now as the thick brows lowered, those eyes became frightening. "Why should I lie about it? You've studied my career. Do you think I haven't driven stakes into a few Undead chests?"
Despite his efforts to appear cool and superior, Ebonwing could not keep a trace of fear out of his voice. "Mr Bane, be honest with me. Why are you here?"
"I want to write a book about your community. Probably not that big, maybe two hundred pages. I still contribute to KDF publishing. So, some interviews, a selection of publicity photos. That's all." But Bane was not telling the truth. The silver daggers were getting painfully hot against his forearms. Nearby was a hate-filled presence aching to kill and he intend to crush it.
III.
Ebonwing agreed to a ninety-minute interview to be held on Skype in two days. Bane said he would record and transcribe it, and Ebonwing would be given a copy to make annotations and corrections on. Books published by the KDF were usually limited to one thousand numbered copies which were not available online or sold in stories. Most copies were given to Midnight War historians. Ebonwing would receive twenty free copies to distribute as he saw fit.
At that point, the phone rang and Ebonwing said he had to place an order with their food delivery service. He pulled a clipboard holding lists and invoices from his desk and asked Moonshadow to escort the visitor out. On their way through the living room, the girl seemed to forget her affected morbid pose and did some subtle flirting. She might as well have been trying to get a rock wall's attention. At the door, Bane asked if she would like to do a separate interview about her vampire life and she promptly agreed. He thanked her and stepped outside.
Once back in the leased car, Bane unclipped the Link from his belt and checked the readings it had taken while he was in the mansion. A quick browsing showed the Trom device's scanners had detected six additional life forms in the floors above. Heat signatures, sounds of breathing and footsteps were all well within average range. There were no moving forms with bodies at room temperature. No vampires, just Humans cosplaying vampires. The Link had also recorded all the license plates as he had walked past the cars. A good amount of data to start the investigation with.
Pulling back out onto the paved road, Bane headed toward the town of Corona. Well before he reached it, he spotted an odd looking motel with a neon sign that read OMEGA ROOMS. Below was a plain wooden placard, CABLE TV - AC - POOL. The buildings were for some inexplicable reason built in a horseshoe with the parking lot in the open space. It seemed to Bane that this construction would mean a lot of wasted space but that was not his concern. Across the highway was a chrome and silver diner, which would be convenient. The Dire Wolf went into the manager's office and rented a room for the next six days, receiving two electronic key cards.
Parking the car in front of Room 16, the Dire Wolf found he was next to two vending machines which dispensed cold beverages and junk food snacks. He got the travel knapsack from the back seat and brought it in with him. The room itself was unremarkable except for the odd coloring scheme where everything was in shades of brown and gold. Well, it was a matter of taste, he supposed. Bane used the bathroom, then went over to the small writing desk under the window and sat down to begin studying his Link.
He had two text messages. One was from Unicorn. She had sent him albums from Paige Polar, Scarab, the Plungers and Courtney McKenna. There was a note, 'Play these while you're driving. There WILL be a quiz. Your favorite Tel Shai knight, Ashley Anne Whitaker.'
The other was from Lauren Sable Reilly, captain of the KDF team. 'Standing by. Is there anything I can help out with?'
Bane immediately sent her all the information on her Link and asked if she would start tracking down who those plates were registered with. He knew she was immensely better at that sort of work than he was. Impatience was his biggest weak spot but it was so much a part of his personality that he couldn't change it. Sable was so conscientous that he could rely on her to do a thorough job.
Stripping off his clothing and tossing it on the double bed, the Dire Wolf stood revealed in what looked like a tight bodysuit of dark wet silk. Only his feet, hands and head were exposed. This was the Trom armor which dispersed impact over its entire surface. A shot from a high-powered rifle felt like a dull thump which didn't even leave a bruise. Feet together, fists at his waist, Bane bowed to his Teacher Chael at Tel Shai, farther away than miles could measure.
Devised for him individually by Chael and frequently revised, the DohRa form began as a series of stretching poses which sped up until he was snapping through rapid punches, kicks, blows and throws against imaginary opponents. Forty minutes later, he slowed again as he returned to the cool-down phases of stances. Bane scowled.
To any observer, he would have seemed a terrifyingly fast blur of deadly motion. But lately he had become dissatisfied with his performance. His strikes were not quite as crisp, his balance not as perfect, his stances not as effortless as they had been no too long ago. And his breathing was slightly faster at the end. He had visibly passed his peak. Well, that was inevitable, time passed for everyone, even for Tel Shai knights.
He didn't have to like it.
Going into the bathroom, he shrugged out of the silk-thin armor and turned it inside out. As he took a steaming hot shower, he rinsed the armor inner surface as well and hung it up on the door to dry. Rubbing a towel roughly over himself, the Dire Wolf examined himself critically in the full-length mirror. He had the build of a runner, with long highly-defined muscles. He did not see any thickening around the waist or softening of the abs. Even the skin under his jawline was still taut. Any other man nearing seventy would have been delighted to be built like that but once Bane started seeing decline, he could not be satisfied.
Dressing again with a fresh shirt, Bane stepped outside and ran across the highway to the THREE BROTHERS DINER. He ordered two turkey dinners with mashed potatoes and gravy, mixed vegetables and blueberry cobbler, then requested they be in a to-go bag. Back in the motel room, he fought his natural tendency to plow through food. He slowed down, making a point to taste each item. Finally, feeling cleaned and fueled up, he stretched out on the bed and mentally reviewed every detail of his visit to the Children of the Night.
The inevitable conclusion was that somewhere in that building was a very old and powerful Undead, perhaps one of the highest ranking Vampire Lords, pulling the strings that controlled the cult. Whether by mystic mind control or simple intimidation didn't really matter. He had a clear target for the night.
Bane checked his Link and found a report from Sable about the owners of the cars at the mansion. She listed full names, ages, addresses, criminal records if any, going into great detail. But at the end, she helpfully added a brief summary of what she found significant. Each of the wanna-be vampires was under thirty, rather pretentious and "a spoiled brat." Ebonwing's legal name was Wesley Lewis Hall from Boston and Moonshadow was actually Sullivan Shea of San Jose. Most important, each member of the community came from a wealthy family and could make substantial donations. The cult was shoveling money in faster than it could spend it.
Bane sent Sable a thank you text and suggested they should keep each other up to date on developments. Another message from Unicorn appeared. When he clicked on it, a video began to play showing Ashley i a wicker chair with an acoustic guitar. Bane sat through her clear high tenor version of Paige Polar's song "I Am Trying To Break Your Heart." He expected a message at the end, but it closed with her giving an ironic salute with two fingers to an eyebrow. She was one of the few people who could make him actually smile.
One last prep to make. From the knapsack he took out his field suit. All black, it consisted of boots, slacks and waist-length jacket of tough-leather like material and the helmet with its retractable visor. He had loaded the dozen concealed slits and pouches with appropriate Trom-designed gadgets. He carried many little weapons and tools daily, but they were selected with the current mission in mind. This assortment for a vampire confrontation was entirely different from the variety used for a stand-off with armed gunmen or with a Black Magic sect.
Tonight he had brought the leather bandolier which had six loops holding ash stakes five inches long, sharpened at one end and weighted with a metal band for throwing. He hadn't used these since that long battle with Nancy Sinister. With the field suit ready, he got on the bed, turned off the lights and stretched out on his back. It was eight-thirty. He began the Tel Shai deep breathing cycle, relaxing his body and emptying his conscious mind. Bane promptly sank into sleep, waiting for midnight.
IV.
At ten minutes to two on a warm night, Moonshadow snuck out the rear door of the mansion, went over to hide herself by the side of the shed which held the ride-on lawnmower, rakes and shovels and other tools. A flare of light showed her face for a second as she lit up a Kool Light. The blessed relief of a nicotine hit made her sigh. She stretched the experience out as long as possible but eventually shev had to flip the butt to the ground and crush it out under her slipper. Back to bed...
What felt like a steel clamp closed around her lower face, binding her jaw up so she couldn't scream. Another irresistible bond tightened around her waist and lifted her bodily off the ground. Her flailing legs couldn't connect with anything. The loudest noise she could make was a muffled grunt. Moonshadow realized with shock that someone was carrying her away at a run, holding her up in the air as if she weighed nothing at all. She was lowered to the base of a solitary palm tree fifty yards from the mansion, rather gently considering the circumstances.
For the first time, she got a good look at the helmeted figure in some sort of dark commando suit who was holding her. Then a familiar voice whispered, "Shhh. I'm not going to hurt you. I needed to get you away to warn you."
The grip on her face eased up. She gasped, "Mr Bane?"
"Yes. Keep your voice low. I don't know if you realize how much danger you're in."
"My God, you're strong. You carried me like I was a rag doll. Whatever you wanted to do, I couldn't stop you..."
"I'm not here to hurt you," he repeated. "Listen. Have you ever seen the secret Master who gives Ebonwing his orders?"
"You know about that? How? They haven't even told ME outright, I've just kind of guessed from all the hints and clues."
"It's my job. It's what I do. Sullivan, where does this secret Master stay?"
"Sullivan...? Whoa, Mr Bane, how do you know my name? No, never mind, I'll tell you. He must be in the basement. That's the only place that's always locked."
In the gloom of that starry night, Bane was barely visible in his black field suit. "That makes sense.
Coffins can be hidden down there. Is there an inside door to the basement?"
"Yes. In the kitchen. It's in the wall by the sink. Let me up, okay, I won't try to run."
"In a minute." Bane leaned closer. "I need to warn you about what you're doing. Vampires are not good-looking Emo poets with tormented souls. Not at all. They're walking corpses that rip throats open to drink blood. They smell like rotting meat. Most don't have enough brain function left to unlock a door or change their clothes. If you meet a real vampire, you won't live long enough to realize how wrong your romantic ideas about them are."
Despite the fact she had been abducted by force and was being held down against a palm tree in the middle of the night, Moonshadow had become remarkably calm. "Yeah. If you say so. For me, it's a statement, I love the aesthetic. You have to admit, it's a great look."
"I'm telling you this from concern for your safety, Sullivan. Sooner or later, they're going to feed on you. It'll be ugly." He held up a steel needle. "Right now, you're going to sleep out here away from the violence. When you wake up, you'll feel weak and nauseous for ten or fifteen minutes. Don't worry, that will pass. When you feel better, get in your car and drive away."
Before Moonshadow could protest, she felt a sharp sting in the side of her neck. Within a second, she was groggy and then passed out. Bane secured the anesthetic dart to its case in a jacket pocket. Normally, he shot the darts from the CO2 powered pistol but they were useful for moments like this. He waited a minute to be sure Moonshadow was breathing normally and that she was propped up against the tree. So far as he knew this far, she hadn't committed any crimes. Even if she had, it was better to err on the side of leniency.
As he had stole onto the property from the rear, Bane had been using the telescopic function of his helmet's visor to check for sentries. None were apparent. Before leaving the unconscious Moonshadow, he turned up the audio function and spent ten minutes listening suspiciously. Nothing. The only lighted windows were at the front of the house. Thermal imaging showed him eleven moving heat sources, all clustered together on the ground floor, all staying close to each other.
The Dire Wolf thumbed his left earpod and the visor slid up into its internal track. From here on, he preferred to rely on his own natural senses. On his narrow face was an expression of feral eagerness.
He headed for the rear of the house. Strangely, he simply walked across the yard in plain view. His entrance an hour earlier had been a textbook example of silent stealth to minimize exposure. But now he seemed to have dismissed the furtive approach.
Moonshadow had left the door unlocked, of course, since she had been only going outside for a quick smoke. Bane swung the screen door open, turned the knob on the inner door and stepped into dimly illuminated space. He took four steps before men were beating him furiously with steel pipes and baseball bats.
V.
Anyone who knew Jeremy Bane would have been baffled and alarmed by how little resistance he put up. Instead of his usual ferocious storm of punches and kicks, he barely threw a few blows before getting beaten down to the floor. The attackers slammed their short heavy pipes as hard as they possibly could, even after Bane was stretched out flat and unmoving. It was only when arms grew tired and they were panting from the exertion that they slowed down and eventually stopped.
"That's enough," said Ebonwing with gloating in his voice. "Her Highness wants him alive. You two, Silence and Nightfall, pick him up by the arms and legs and we can bring him down to the throne."
As he spoke, he flipped a wall switch and lamps went on to reveal they were in a short hallway opening to a kitchen.
Five young men and two young women, all in their twenties, all well dressed and all well groomed, stiood around the motionless figure on the floor. The Children of the Night still held baseball bats, lead pipes, at least one large wrench and one carpenter's hammer. Ebonwing directed them to carry Bane into the kitchen. A door in one corner opened to reveal steep concrete steps leading down. Ebonwing paused. "Whatever happened to Moonshadow? Listen, Darkchild, Blacksleep, you two go find her. Be careful, this guy might have brought an accomplice with him."
Bane was carried down to a large furnished basement with brick floor and wood-paneled walls. A red-tinted bulb in a glass bowl overhead gave a lurid hellish tint to the light. Pushed up against the walls were some chairs and a round card-playing table, leaving most of the floor space open.
On a high-backed chair carved of mahogany sat a ghastly figure. Not much larger than a ten year old child, thin as a victim of war crimes, she was wrapped in a robe of thin red silk faced with gold trim. Florina Jonescu irresistibly inspired thoughts of a vulture. The head was bald except for some vague stubble around the ears and nape. The prominent hooked nose curved down to meet a thin-lipped mouth and lantern jaw. Under vestigial eyebrows, eyes with red irises narrowed as the cult assembled before her.
"Place him in that chair," she snapped in a harsh, brittle voice. Hands with fingers long and bony as talons worked hungrily at the air. Stand on either side of him." The cultists hurried to prop the limp form up on a sturdy wooden chair they had brought forward. On her command, they hurriedly searched Bane. The first thing they came up with was a long-barreled .38 Smith & Wesson revolver in a clip-on holster. Manhandling him out of the jacket, the Children of the Night found eight miniature devices were extracted from inner pockets and slits in its interior. Finally, at her urging, the young men tugged up the sleeves of his black crewneck shirt to reveal an odd mass of spongy plastic on each forearm.
"And there they are!" hissed Jonescu. "The cursed daggers of ensalir. Silver blessed by the immortal Eldanarin themselves. Hold them up, my boys, so that I might get a better look.... but do not bring them closer."
Each piece of plastic held a sheath which contained a slim-bladed throwing dagger without crossbar, only a flat hilt. Even in the red-tinted light of that basement, those blades gleamed cold and white. Florina Jonescu grinned as she saw them, her shrunken gums revealing elongated upper canines. "The Dire Wolf is clever for a mortal," she laughed. "That molded material feels exactly like Human muscle when squeezed. It is enough to deceive most searchers. But I knew of them! And so I have taken the most effective weapons our enemy has."
At this point, Bane took deeper breaths and raised his head. The cultists had removed his helmet, showing it had protected his head from the assault. The narrow predatory face was unmarked. The grey eyes fixed on the elder vampire with a calm fearless focus.
"I can tell you were not seriously harmed," she said. "Your breathing is steady. Why didn't you put up a better fight? Where was the Kumundu master everyone fears? I believe you allowed yourself to be captured."
The Dire Wolf made no reply. He did not try to pull loose from the hands holding his arms, and he did not shift his weight or fidget about. Bane sat as casually as if leafing through a menu.
"Why have you done this, Mr Bane?"
"Florina Jonescu. At last!" said the Dire Wolf. "Tracking down you Vampire Lords is not easy. You've had hundreds of years to learn good hiding places."
"So, we know of each other."
"And to answer your question, I let myself be taken, sure. I thought that if you heard a brawl upstairs that you might make a run for it. If you thought I was helpless, you'd be bold enough to want some answers."
"Really. I see." The withered little figure on the throne was hunched over with age so that it could not have fully straightened up no matter what. "Capturing you gives me great satisfaction, Dire Wolf. We vampires have not had such a persistent enemy since the days of Bleak. Mr Bane, I have learned the secret of Tagra. Your blood is saturated with the rare mint which gives great powers of healing, of strength and longevity."
Again, Bane made no comment. He seemed unmoved by his situation. The Children of the Night had spread out into a loose circle around him, still holding on to their improvised weapons. A few of them were trying to appear tough and hard, but all kept staring in obvious horror at Jonescu. Bane thought that Moonshadow had at least been telling the truth about one thing... few of the Children had ever seen the ancient creature who ruled them.
Continuing, Jonescu said, "Maybe your blood will have some beneficial effect on me. It is worth a try. I will keep you alive, Jeremy Bane, partaking of your blood but not enough that you might die. There is some irony in the thought of turning the Dire Wolf into a vampire but I would not want to face such an enemy."
"Are you the only Vampire Lord in America?"
The ancient creature thrust her head forward on a thin neck in a buzzard-like pose. "What? Why even ask such a question?"
"Force of habit," he said. "So, neat racket you're running here. As far as I can tell, only three of your little family here are vampires themselves. The rest are living Humans. You're dangling the promise of Turning them if they serve well enough. Being Undead means basic immortality, freedom from disease or aging, even shape-shifting. It looks the hints in your video are honest, after all."
"It matters not to you!" she spat. "You will never be free again. Perhaps I will sell off samples of your blood, if it proves to have benefits. My peers on the Council have wealth to spare. Wait. Bring those knives closer, Blackchild."
Unnoticed by even those staring at him, Bane had let his arms droop down until his hands were touching the tops of his boots. Instead of terror, his expression was of barely restrained eagerness.
"The silver does not repel me as much as it should," Jonescu said, letting the two daggers come within reach. "Ensalir... silver of the Eldanarin... should give me great pain and weakness this close. What does this mean?"
"It means those are just steel knives with a thin coating of silver," Bane said quietly. He leaped to his feet, shrugging off the hands holding him. From inside his boots, he had drawn out the genuine silver daggers.
VI.
The Dire Wolf stabbed out left and right, sliding a dagger into the bodies of the vampires who had been holding him. As soon as the blades pierced them, the Undead sagged and fell apart into vile gelatinous muck. It didn't matter where the wounds were made. When the edge of those ensorcelled blades broke the skin, the maleficent spell reanimating them was dispersed.
The crowd was just beginning to react, as the sudden burst of violence had swamped their perceptions. Bane swerved, heading to pounce on the Vampire Lord who was creaking up on to her feet but he was tackled headlong by the remaining vampire slave. They slammed down to the chilly cement floor. The Dire Wolf was up again instantly, but the Undead was collapsing into a sodden mass.
By then, the Children of the Night had recovered their wits. They raised their lead pipes and baseball bats, drawing closer toward the man in black. But they froze motionless. These were pampered sons and daughters of the wealthy. None had ever been in a real fistfight, much less a struggle for life or death stakes. They saw how Bane had moved. They saw his crouching posture with the two daggers ready. In those pale eyes was neither anger nor fear. Those eyes held the calm concentration with which a cat regards a mouse.
They dropped their weapons with a clatter and ran up the stairs in complete panic, getting in each other's way and screaming. Only the vampire's lieutenant Ebonwing stood his ground, waving a short-handled axe in both hands. He was breathing from emotion as heavily as if he had been running for miles.
"How are you not hurt?" he demanded. "We were beating you hard as we possibly could."
Bane did not explain. Between the advanced Trom armor and his enhanced healing factor, the assault had only left him bruised and sore for a few minutes. He lowered his knives, keeping both Jonescu and Ebonwing in sight.
"Run, my Lady!" yelled Ebonwing. "I'll hold him off." He took one step before the bottom of a boot exploded against the center of his chest, hurling him back against the wall behind him. His heart missed a beat from the impact and the air was driven out of his lungs. From the way he fell, the wanna-be vampire would not be getting up again for quite a while.
Bane swiveled to confront Jonescu, who had wilted visibly. She lowered herself down to the throne again. Putting up a brave front, she folded her withered hands and waited.
"I don't think you're really a Vampire Lord," the Dire Wolf said. "You haven't tried hypnosis on me. You haven't shape-shifted. You didn't even order your cult to swarm me. I expect powers like that from the Lords."
"It's true," she admitted. "I have not been admitted to the Council. Four hundred years have I stalked the night, but it's not enough for them."
Bane moved toward her, still wielding the silver daggers. He had not expected such reluctance now that he was going to destroy her. He had never been able to execute a helpless prisoner, that was just not in him. He knew she was not a living breathing Human, she was an ancient monster who must have killed thousands of innocent victims over the centuries. But, still, to strike down what seemed to be a defenseless old lady bothered him.
When he came within reach, he saw as if for the first time those yellowing pointed fangs in the upper jaw, the glare of bloodthirsty hatred, the skin wrinkled as an apple dried in the sun. The vampire stank with the odor of a dead mouse stuck in the walls of a house. Bane took a breath. His arm whistled in a backstroke that slid the razor-sharp dagger across her throat.
Jonescu fell inward, collapsing into dust and powder, with only a few fragments still retaining a recognizable shape. With the lifting of her curse, the oppressive heaviness lifted from the air. Bane straightened with a feeling of immense relief.
"I'm calling the cops! I'm calling the cops!" Ebonwing shouted. "You're going to jail for murder. 911! 911!" Although he had recovered enough breath to yell, he didn't seem able to rise yet.
The Dire Wolf unhurriedly went over to a side table which held his jacket and effects. He tugged up his sleeves and strapped the sheaths back to his forearms, sliding the silver daggers. The field suit jacket went on next, then he picked up the helmet. There were no cracks on its surface, just scuff marks and one dent. Finally, he inspected the gas-powered dart gun before holstering it behind his left hip.
Turning to find Ebonwing fumbling hopelessly with trembling fingers at a phone, Bane said, "Forget about calling the local police. The FBI will be taking over. Since you Children of the Night set up this commune, there has been a huge increase in missing persons reports within a hundred mile radius. My bet is that you'll be found an accessory to some of them... for bringing victims to Florina Jonescu."
The young man tried to get up, gingerly touching his chest. "You broke something. It hurts when I breath."
"Department 21 Black always brings a pair of EMTs," Bane said. "By now, all your friends are running away from here as fast as they can. You're left behind to take the fall."
"This was something beautiful," said Ebonwing. "Our Lady had wisdom and grace that would save this fallen world. You don't understand why we served her. This was something beautiful."
"You're right about one thing," Bane replied. "I don't understand."
1/21/2025
no subject
Date: 2025-01-22 07:58 am (UTC)