dochermes

"Nope, No Spies Here"

6/21-6/22/2008

I.

For some reason, Unicorn had leaned up against Megan on the couch and fallen utterly asleep. Looking down at Ashley's shining silver-white hair pressed against her shoulder and hearing the peaceful nearly inaudible breathing of her friend, Megan Salenger was at a loss how to react. This puzzlement happened often to her with the Unicorn. Having been raised by the unemotional Trom, Megan was a certified genius in a dozen highly demanding technical fields but there were still gaps in her understanding of Human courtesy. They had both been getting by on inadequate sleep for the past week and she understood why Unicorn was tired.

The Trom Girl sat motionless and allowed herself a wry expression that no one saw. Only a little older than Ashley, Megan was a few inches taller and a little more solidly built than the waiflike Unicorn. Short unruly black hair and large dark eyes in an oval face added to the contrast between them. They were even dressed in opposite colors as usual, Megan in her black field suit with its waist-length jacket and Unicorn in all white.. tight jeans, a long-sleeved crewneck jersey and a lightweight white windbreaker with blue trim. More than once, someone had teased them for looking like a living Yin-Yin symbol.

After a few minutes dragged by, Megan got restless. She was duty motivated and disliked wasting time when there was so much work to be done. They were sitting on the long leather couch in Sable's office, where they had been told to wait for details on a new mission. The Trom Girl glanced over at the fish tank sitting on top of the waist-high bookcase opposite them. Those bizarre creatures from Ulgor, the luminous squid, the large sea horse with fangs, even that ominous starfish with its single red eye in its hub, all were moving about normally. But Megan had a strong urge to check on them, to measure the water quality and perhaps install a microphone to record and analyze any sounds those creatures made.

Megan braced herself and began to slowly rise so she could disentangle herself, but Unicorn mumbled in her sleep and threw one arm across Megan's lap. The faint sigh of contentment from the little blonde broke Megan's resolve. A few more minutes couldn't hurt. Humans did require sleep for both physical and psychological reasons. As she relaxed and leaned her head back, the Trom Girl was not aware of slipping off into slumber herself.

Ten minutes later, a tall gaunt man stuck his head silently through the doorway. For once, those infamous grey eyes softened. The thin-lipped mouth curled into an actual smile. It was rare to see Jeremy Bane openly amused but he was now. For a long moment, he watched the two sleeping young women holding each other. A faint poignant twinge stung in his chest, a bittersweet feeling he wasn't familiar with. The Dire Wolf stepped back out into the hallway and moved toward the front door.

He had parked his Mustang in the tiny underground garage and come up through the passage which exited in the rear of the walk-in closet. Now, he opened the massive mahogany door which opened to the foyer and beyond that to East 38th Street. Bane thumbed the button that sounded the overhead chimes and stepped back into the hall, closing the door more loudly than was really necessary. Stomping his feet as he strode the open office door would have been a bit too obvious, he thought.

When he entered the office, he found both Unicorn and Trom Girl sitting upright on the couch and sliding a bit away from each other. Ashley was tugging down her windbreaker where it had ridden up and Megan was visibly blushing as she rose to greet him. "Hello, captain."

"Hi, you two," he replied. Bane had felt no temptation to tease them by shouting suddenly to have awakened them. He had almost no sense of humor beyond an occasional use of irony, it wasn't part of his make-up. "Sable said the rest of the team is in Belgium chasing Avathor but that you guys were available."

Ashley Whitaker clapped her hands together. "Great! Super! All we do is study and train and then study more and train more. Whatcha got for us?"

"It may not be all that exciting," Bane said. "I spotted Eric Spiegel in town."

"Oh my God, no! It can't be," sassed Unicorn and then added, "Who's he?"

Megan broke in, "He is a prominent enforcement agent for the Mandate. Eric Chester Spiegel, born September 2 1977 in Endicott, Massachusetts, is credited with eleven confirmed kills of enemy agents from STIGMA, the White Web and one MI 6 rogue. Our files have him working out of Houston, Texas."

With a sniff, Unicorn asked, "How much does he weigh? What's his favorite color?"

"He weighed one hundred and eighty-one pounds and stood six feet one inch tall at his last physical. His favorite color is not listed."

"I wasn't being SERIOUS, science nerd."

Bane unclipped his Link from his belt, a flat electronic device no thicker than three playing cards on top of each other. "Here. I'm sending you each the last photo available of Spiegel and of Dandelion."

"Dandelion? Now HER I know about!" Unicorn chirped as she watched the screen on her own Link. "You've fought her a bunch of times, captain, is she really the best shootist ever?"

"Best I've ever seen in person, anyway." Bane let the natural gravitas return to his voice. "Take her seriously. Dandelion had some Tel Shai training before she was rejected by the Order. Her draw and her accuracy are way beyond what Human relexes can explain. She's supernatural in a real sense."

"But you're faster than her, right? I mean, come on, you're the freaking Dire Wolf!" Ashley went on.

"I have to be realistic about this," Bane said. "We're so closely matched that I don't think there's any way to measure the difference. In any given showdown, either Dandelion or I could draw and shoot first but the odds are very good that both of us would take a bullet or two in the process."

"Interesting," Megan added quietly. "One scholar of the Midnight War theorized that this woman has an unconscious telekinetic ability capable of accelerating bullets in flight and guiding their trajectory. I would like to test this."

"Watch out. She knows about the Trom armor we wear under our clothes," said the Dire Wolf. "Your head and neck are more than enough. Anyway, Dandelion was mentioned in a transmission I overheard Spiegel send. We don't know for a fact she's in the city. I would rather have you snoop around Spiegel and see what he's up to, it'd be better if you don't meet Dandelion at all."

"We're on the job, Jeremy," Ashley said, clipping her Link to her belt under the windbreaker. "You working with us on this?"

"I wish, but no. I've got a client at my agency and today I hope to find out what happened to his kids. It's very personal. But I did attach a Trom transmitter inside the wheel well of his car. Signal 177. You'll have no trouble finding him."

"And the two of us look so different we can switch off while trailing him to avoid being spotted," Unicorn smirked. "Okay, science nerd, you ready?"

"Yes." Megan Salenger seemed distracted. "To be honest, I am curious about determining how this Dandelion can perform her sharpshooting feats. It would be a useful ability to replicate."

In the doorway, Bane said, "I have to go now. Listen, I don't usually caution you two. You're both experienced Tel Shai knights and to be honest, you're as good as any other KDF members before you. But I strongly recommend staying away from Unicorn if you see her. Text me according to your own judgement, I should be down by the Battery."

The sound of the door closing out in the front hall was the prompt for Ashley and Megan to exchange amused smiles. "Well," laughed the little blonde, "Now I'm determined to chase down this Dandelion lassie no matter what!"

( the rest of the story )

"Kneeling Before the Asp"

A Trom Girl Mystery

8/25/2008

I.


At the wheel of her beloved cherry-red Jeep Cherokee, Megan Salenger slowed and pulled over to the side of Highway 89. The last drowsy village had been left behind forty miles ago. Nothing seemed real except the hot naked sun and the dust kicked up in their wake. They were nearly at the Mexican border, with the featureless highway stretching ahead until it vanished at a flat horizon.

Raising her mirrored aviator sunglasses, the Trom Girl studied the side road to their right. There were two signs on separate concrete posts flanking the road. One said PRIVATE PROPERTY - NO TRESPASSING and the other said HELIOPOLIS INSTITUTE, both in vivid red lettering against an azure background. No barrier stretched across the dirt road.

Almost thirty, Megan's slight build and inquisitive foxlike face made her look considerably younger. She would have been carded in most places. Today, she was dressed more formally than usual in matching tan skirt and jacket with a cream-colored white blouse and a single strand of pearls under the collar. The outfit, along with her discreet earrings and watch, had been chosen as a bit pricey. She wanted to give the impression of having money without being obvious.

Beside her, Archie McCallister yawned in relief and clapped his book shut. "Oh, about time. I couldn't take much more of this woman's writing."

"You don't care for SECRETS OF THE SCARAB QUEEN?" asked Megan.

"Not one bit. Jeez, hon, it's written in this flowery pretentious style that rubs me the wrong way." A few years older than the Trom Girl, a foot taller and a hundred pounds heavier, Archie was also groomed for the occasion. They had bought him a new Navy blue suit with a powder blue shirt and narrow black tie, complete with highly polished leather shoes. He hated being dressed up. Ten years as a Harley mechanic had left him more comfortable in less formal attire.

The Trom Girl gave him a conspiratorial smile. "Have you absorbed any valuable background on ancient Egypt?"

"Aw hell, no. Not from this junk anyway. I did read a couple books a few years ago about debunking some of the usual silly theories about the Sphinx and the Pyramids. I always thought the historical events about Egypt and its rivals were interesting enough without making them into wonderlands. But this book... there's nothing to it. It's fluff. It's like trying to take a big bite of cotton candy when you expect steak."

That drew one of Megan's rare deep-throated chuckles. "I always enjoy your imagery, dear. I share your judgement. There is no substantial information in SECRETS OF THE SCARAB QUEEN or in Metifa's other book KNEELING BEFORE THE ASP. The time spent reading them could have been put to better use."

Archie shrugged and leaned forward to peer through the windshield at the dirt road. "There must be a hundred whacky little cults promising amazing secrets if you just sign over every dollar you have, Megan. To be honest, Southern California has more than its share."

"You are correct," answered the Trom Girl as she put the Jeep into gear and swung down the road toward the Heliopolis Institute. "We are only interested in this particular one because of a missing person and the hints of murder."

( the rest of the story )

"The Triceratops Murders"

4/8-4/9/2008

I.

visibility was so poor Bane could hardly see the street lights. He eased the Surbaru up to the curb and glanced at the outside thermometer, it read twelve degrees. Forlorn Corners, Minnesota in April. He was wearing the full field suit of black leatherlike boots, pants and jacket and now he pulled the gloves on. On the seat next to him was the helmet. The Dire Wolf pulled it on, sealed it around the high collar of the jacket and lowered the visor. He took a minute to activate the display, using the Trom sensors that amplified light until he saw through the window of his car with acceptable visibility. It was not as good as a sunny day by any means, but at least he could make out the signs on buildings. Bane stepped out into the storm, perfectly warm and dry in a suit designed for worse environments than this.

Ahead was Beckert's Chop House, with a wide picture window under the cursive neon sign. To his surprise, there were six people in there, three at a booth and three at the counter. Minnesotans must be a tough breed. The Dire Wolf stepped inside, standing on the rubber mat as he brushed himself off and stamped his boots. Everyone glanced up but most politely looked away away after a second. Bane removed his helmet. He was a tall, gaunt man with short black hair and cold grey eyes in a narrow face. He was not friendly-looking at best. Walking up to the counter, he took a stool a few spaces away from the nearest man and looked up at the signs on the wall.

Wiping his hands with a cloth, a beefy blonde man in a white dress shirt with an apron over it stepped closer. "You didn't ride a MOTORCYCLE in that weather...?!"

"Oh, that's not a cycle helmet," Bane said. "It's survival gear. I'm starving. How about a hot roast beef sandwich, hash browns and apple pie? Orange juice."

"Sure thing," the counterman said and gave him a glass of ice water, which Bane sipped. The nearest man on a stool said, "You ain't from around here, mister. Hell of a night to be driving."

"It certainly got me nervous. Maybe you guys are used to this weather and know how to handle it but I'm not used to snow like that in April."

Another local leaned over. "So, pardon my noisiness but what does bring you way out on the prairie in this season?"

"The governor's office asked me to look into the strange killings here." The food came to the counter and he dug in.

"What are you, a government agent? FBI?"

"No," Bane replied around a bite of the sandwich. "I'm an investigator with special training. Maybe you guys can tell me if my information is correct. I understand three killings have taken place in the past two months. The Trampling Murders, they were called, two men at the State University and one student. It's been kept out of the news."

Now the counterman chimed in. "We can't help you, mister. You about done, I suggest you move on."

Bane finished his orange juice, put money on the counter and looked around at the unfriendly faces. He was obviously not intimidated. Standing up, he said, "I may be around for a while. Hunting killers is what I do. I'd appreciate any help you men want to give me. Maybe you're afraid. Maybe you don't care that someone thinks he can kill teachers and students and not be punished. I've taken a room at the Midtown." With that, he headed for the door, pulled his helmet back on and stepped outside.

It's a dark night in more ways than one, he thought. Did this town just know how to keep its secrets or were those men covering for someone? He decided to forget about trying to drive the short distance and just started walking. A few blocks later, he saw the street sign LARK STREET. Here was the Acme Building, a white brick structure occupied by real estate office, a dentist, two insurance firms. On the fourth and top floor, a single window was lit. Bane found the front door was unlocked and he trotted quickly up the narrow wooden stairs. At the fourth floor landing, he smiled at the frosted glass door that read GARY STRICKLER, INVESTIGATIONS with NOTARY PUBLIC in smaller letters. He rapped sharply on the door. The sound of a chair squeaking was the only answer. Reaching in a jacket pocket, he took out the invaluable Trom device that shaped its intricate wire frame to match the inside of a lock, then rotated to open it. He opened the door as if it hadn't been locked.

The office was plain and slightly rundown, but clean. There was a couch, a couple of chairs, a waist-high bookcase full of law and reference volumes. Behind a desk under a reading lamp sat a heavy, slouched man bent over a nearly empty gin bottle and a shot glass. He looked up in surprise. "We're closed, friend. You can make an appointment for tomorrow if you like."

Bane rather liked Gary Strickler on instinct. The man was late middle age, there was white in the bushy sideburns and the hairline was receding. He did not look like a tough guy, having a doughy face with jowls and round-rimmed glasses with thick lenses. But something in the wary eyes and the way one hand was back by the edge of the desk hinted that he had been dangerous enough in his younger days.

"My name is Jeremy Bane. I came here from New York to look into the Trample Killings." Bane held out his leather ID case and showed it to Stricker, who did not merely glance at it but examined it carefully.

"The Dire Wolf Agency," he said, then looked up at his visitor. "As it happens, I've read a little about you. The supernatural is a hobby of mine, although I haven't had any personal experience."

"Oh, but I think you just did." the Dire Wolf said as he pulled a chair over."Here in Forlorn Corners. Have you been to the scene of the killings?"

"Just the first one. Darndest thing. The man's apartment was only reached up a narrow outside staircase and a door I would have to squeeze through, yet some big animal got in there somehow. The victim was, well, trampled is the right word. Every bone broken. Furniture stomped on. I'd guess a horse or a buffalo went wild but there is no way anything that big could get in there."

"Unless... it wasn't that big when it went up the stairs and through the door."

"Wait, what?"

"Just my theory. I've fought some strange things in my time. Look, Mr Stricker, I want to hire you to show me the crime scenes. You know the area. You're an experienced investigator and you will spot clues I might miss. What are your rates?"

Strickler gave a crooked smile. "Aw, I'm in this as a professional courtesy. One detective to another, I want this monster stopped but I'm getting a little old for cracking heads."

"All right," Bane said it. He placed five twenties on the desk. "But I want to cover your expenses and in case you might be losing a client while you're with me. I'm staying at the Midtown, second floor, 203." They exchanged cell phone numbers and Bane got up. "What time will you be ready tomorrow?"

"I'm here at 8:30."

"Fine. Nice meeting you, Mr Strickler."

How about a first name basis, Jeremy? We're colleagues after all."

"Gary, then. See you tomorrow." He turned and left the office with the first impression he was going to get anywhere on this case.

( the rest of the case )

"Princess of Darkness"

12/20/2008


I.

It was dark by four-thirty this time of year and the sullen overcast sky helped. Nancy couldn't wait any longer, she had to get out into the night. Even though she no longer felt the cold or much of any other physical sensation, she paused to throw on a long black cloth coat and to grab a felt hat. Looking normal, or nearly normal, was a form of camoflauge for her. She left her rented room at the top of the rickety stairs and stopped to regard the full-length mirror that stood in the hall. It amused her that she still cast a reflection, but then she was no ordinary vampire. Her uncle's spell had given her many of the properties of vampirism while leaving many normal functions unchanged. Nancy Sinister, Princess of Darkness.. the Living Vampire.

Grinning at her in the mirror, her reflection showed a young girl, not more than five feet three and maybe a bit too thin to look her best. She had been seventeen when she had "died," and she wondered if now she would always be that age. The former Nancy Gideon had lank black hair that hung to her shoulders, a pale oval face with bright blue eyes and full lips that she had started applying black lipstick to recently. With her white skin and black hair, looking Goth was another form of camoflauge. The heavy eyeliner was another touch.Nancy inspected herself closely, adjusted the hat at a saucy angle, and trotted down the stairs to the front door.

She had to pass the living room, and trying to sneak past Mr and Mrs Giordano was hopeless, so she popped her head in for a second. "I'm going for a run, you guys. I feel so much better when I keep at it on a regular basis. Then maybe meet a few friends at the Dew Drop Inn."

"Nancy, aren't you going to eat?" asked the old lady. "We have ziti, more than enough. Just smell that aroma."

"I'd love to, but you know my allergies. No pasta, no bread, no tomato or cheese. It's too bad, but I don't want to go to the hospital." She grinned wickedly when they could not see her face. "I'll grab a bite somewhere!"

"Be careful, dear," mumbled Mr Giordano over the newspaper he held closer to his failing eyes every night. "I wish you would run with a friend."

"I'm always careful, I'll be fine. Night." She went out into the chilly December night and closed the door behind them. That had been a little bit of a strain. Nancy had not fed for a week and the craving was strong tonight. It was lucky that Mr and Mrs G were elderly, and their thin lukewarm blood was not much of a tempation to her. She could rent the room from them without having to fight the urge to attack them.

As soon as she was out in the night, Nancy Sinister felt bursting with vitality and bloodlust. Even though she could walk in bright sunlight, she was basically a creature of the night. This was a quiet, well-kept neighborhood in Staten Island, with little crime and not much to fear. Except her. She started walking slowly down the perfect sidewalk, past the neat little yards and the fresh-painted houses with their clean windows. She felt horribly out of place, but that was good. No one would be looking for the Undead in such a mundane middle-class American slough.

A white Toyota slowed down as it passed her, and she made eye contact with the driver. Chubby middle-aged white man in a suit and tie...prime prey material, she thought. The car kept going but made the next turn and she walked slower. This was going to be easy. Sure enough, the Toyota circled around and came up behind her again. Nancy stopped and smiled, and the fool pulled over to the curb.

"You need a ride, miss?"

"Sure. We can go for a ride," she answered and climbed in. The man thought she was a streetwalker, that was the usual way to approach one without mentioning money or sex. The Living Vampire buckled her seatbelt and smiled sweetly at him. "Maybe we can help each other out."

"I'd like that. You know a good place nearby?"

"Oh, I think so. Go straight a few more blocks." As they rolled up alongside a vacant lot with dried dead weeds and a FOR LEASE- NORTHEAST REALTY CO sign, Nancy told him to stop right where the lot began. "No one's gonna bother us here."

"Sounds good. You know, I don't normally do this but you are just so pretty-" His words ended there as she seized his head with unnaturally strong hands, bent it to one side and sliced her canines into his throat like sabers. The man convulsed and gurgled, but she held him motionless as he fed. His blood was salty and a bit thick, she thought, but still tasty. It took no more than five or six minutes to drink all she wanted, and as she withdrew her fangs, his bleeding stopped. Nancy licked her lips and swallowed hard to get the last of the blood from her mouth before it would thicken. Now she felt better. The craving had eased up. The Living Vampire studied the area warily, saw no one in sight, and climbed out of her door.

This had to be done quickly. Unbuckling the victim's straps, she roughly shoved him over onto the passenger seat, forcing his legs over the center console. She climbed behind the wheel herself, grabbed the keys still in the ignition and started the car up. Fighting down laughter, Nancy pulled out after a red Dodge truck went by and sped off. Grand theft auto was the least of her crimes. She saw the gas tank was full, which was good. It seemed prudent to her not to leave any prey near her residence, that was just common sense, so she would go over the Verrazano-Narrows Bridge and dump both him and the car in Brooklyn.

Forty minutes later, finding a rundown neighborhood with no one on the streets in the wind chill, she pulled over and parked the car. Searching the corpse revealed a roll of three hundred dollars, which would be useful. She didn't like using credit cards from the prey because that left a trail. A quick search of the car uncovered nothing else she wanted, so she waited until no one was in sight and got out, walking briskly up the street. She felt great. A few pints of blood had really hit the spot.When she had first become Undead, she had gorged once or twice and paid for it by feeling bloated and sluggish for the following day. Not any more.

After she had been walking a few minutes, Nancy began to think about her next move. Not long ago, she had gathered more than twenty Undead under her control, a growing army of the night for her intended apocalyptic attack on the living. That had ended so suddenly. A strange man with grey eyes and two silver daggers, with his Asian henchman, had found the abandoned church and wiped her warren out. She herself had promptly escaped as she saw the slaughter begin. His name had been Jeremy Bane, the Dire Wolf, and the more she found out about him, the more firmly she felt that they would inevitably clash again. She knew there were vampire hunters, very dangerous ones, but this Bane character was something special. The stories about him had to be exaggerated.

Nancy strode briskly through the night, past a convenient mart and toward a 24-hour pharmacy. She was not tired in the slightest and the winter winds didn't affect her. She felt like she could walk until dawn. Only.. why was she going THIS way? Why was she not heading for the bus stop she knew was nearby, where she could hop on and get to Manhattan? She stopped and turned her head to the left. The bus stop was that way. There was nothing for her here and yet... somehow it seemed important. This was starting to worry her, but she might as well go with it. Nancy suddenly made herself stop as she decided to head for the bus stop, but she found herself walking in the original direction again anyway.

Weird. What was going on here? Maybe this was some vampire trait she was just developing. Nancy hurried through the darkness and saw a small one-story house set back from the street, up on a rise. It might have once been a neat little cottage but seemed to have been neglected for a long time. Not a single light showed. As Nancy approached, two tall dark forms came through that gate to meet her. Their pale faces loomed up in the murk and the red glint in their eyes let her know she was not dealing with the living. They were shrouded in long dark cloaks.

"Okay, what's the deal, boys?" she asked blithely.

"Nancy Gideon, you have been summoned here," said one of them in a hollow sepulchral voice. "You are granted audience."

"Really? That's nice. And who am I granted audience to see?"

"The Vampire Lords...." answered the mournful tone.

II.

Just as it was getting dark, Jeremy Bane entered a familiar sports bar in Times Square and heard the low buzz of conversation over a hockey game playing on two TVs mounted high up on the walls. His eyes adjusted instantly to the dim light. In a booth in the back, he spotted a familiar figure. In his mid-seventies, thin and spare, the man had a mop of blond hair mixed with grey. Bleak nodded to him. Of course the guy was sitting where he could watch the door to the street and where he was close enough to dive through the swinging kitchen door if there was trouble. Bleak would never miss positioning himself that way.

Bane also took in everyone else in that bar in a glance that analyzed potential threats. It was a combination of his Kumundu training and a life spent in the Midnight War that made him survey the situation this way. Only one person there was a possible hazard. Over by the bathroom, peched on a stool was a tall black guy who sat in a way that left him open to move in any direction; he was sipping a beer but his other hand was in his jacket pocket. After another split-second, Bane dismissed suspicion. The man was not tense or watchful, merely cautious within normal limits. Everyone in the place had body language and positioning that showed them as harmless.

Moving up to the bar, the Dire Wolf ordered a hot roast beef sandwich, a bacon cheeseburger, an iced tea and a Budweiser, asking that the items be brought to the booth in the back. Then he strode over to join Bleak. At fifty, Bane had not changed much physically. He was still six feet tall and gaunt as a real wolf, still regarding the world through watchful grey eyes. He would always be the Dire Wolf. Sliding into the booth facing Bleak, he said, "I got your message, but this was the soonest I could get here."

"S'all right," replied Bleak. "Listen, I got news you want to hear." The faded blue eyes were intense. "I got a tip someone bad is in the area."

Bane raised one eyebrow. "Go on."

"Baron Dralescu. He's been spotted getting out of a limo in Brooklyn. Prospect Park area. Definitely him."

The food arrived and they were silent until the waitress had left. As Bleak dug into the burger, the Dire Wolf said, "Dralescu! Never met him. I've heard stories of course. What is one of the Vampire Lords doing so far from Eastern Europe?"

Bleak had to chew for a moment before he could gulp and answer. "I got a theory. You know the Lords are conservative. They like the arrangement they've established for hundreds of years and they like the Undead keeping a low profile. The more that living people think vampires are just folklore, the safer they are. But some one has been stirring things up."

"Of course.... Nancy Sinister." Bane put down his roast beef still untouched. "The Living Vampire. I met her twice and I've been trying to track her down for weeks now. Dralescu doesn't approve of her approach." He picked up the sandwich and finally took a bite.

"Absolutely. She managed to get every bloodsucker in the New York area under her thumb before you and Argent wiped them out. I hear only three or four escaped. Maybe she's planning on doing it again, maybe she has some other wild scheme. In any case, she's a loose cannon and the Vampire Lords want to rein her in."

Bane frowned more than usual. "Nancy has claimed a record number of victims in just three months. Even the general public is starting to catch on that something new is prowling the night. I'm getting annoyed that I can't catch her."

"Huh. She's only a kid. You'd think she'd be easy to track."

"No, because she breaks all the rules," the Dire Wolf snapped. "She can walk around in direct sunlight all day. She casts a reflection. She doesn't react to garlic or holy objects or any of the usual weapons we use against Undead. She has the powers of a vampire but not the weaknesses."

They were both silent as a man passed by close enough to overhear, then Bane continued. "And I think she's more creative than real vampires. She's unpredictable. It's hard to get any leads."

Bleak finished the beer, set the mug down with a thump. "All right. I'll be heading home. I've got my friends on the lookout for her. They'll call me and I'll call you, and you can settle things."

"Sounds good," said Bane. "For now, give me that address in Brooklyn and I'll investigate. Thanks for the lead, you've always steered me the right way." He took two fifties from his inner jacket pocket, but Bleak pushed his arm back.

"Not for vampires," he said coldly. "I take money for most Midnight War tips, but I have a special grudge against the Undead. Fighting them is its own reward."

"I know what they did to you," Bane answered quietly.

"Yeah. I wasn't always called Bleak."

III.

Not a single light was turned on, no candle burned. Those who dwelt in that house could all see perfectly well in complete darkness. Nancy went with the two vampires without resisting them. She had heard of the Vampire Lords and was curious. In the living room, all the furniture had been removed except for a throne. This was a high-backed chair of dark wood, elaborately carved, set against one wall. On this throne sat Dralescu.

Nancy dd not know what she had been expecting, maybe an old man with white hair or maybe a sort of seductive glamorous guy with European charm. Baron Dralescu was an all-out horror. There was no hair on his head, not even eyebrows. A long beaky nose extended from a bony face in which two red-irised eyes glowed visibly. The ears rose to sharp points and, as he grinned at her, two long canines gleamed in the darkness. Dralescu was wrapped in a dark robe of thick material, with a high collar and a gold-linked chain which held a round amulet.

The ancient Undead raised a skeletal hand with nails so long and sharp they were weapons in themselves. "Bring her before me," he hissed in a whisper, and the two vampires obeyed.

Nancy stood in front of the Vampire Lord with her arms folded, weight resting on one leg casually. "Well, they didn't choose you for your looks," she laughed.

"Kneel," rasped Dralescu and his voice had a strange echo to it.

Somehow she found herself dropping to her knees. Nancy gasped in indignation and struggled to rise again but it felt as if a huge weight was pressing down on her shoulders. She placed her palms on the dust floor and pressed hard, trying to get up, but couldn't.

"You have much to learn, little one," Dralescu whispered. "Nancy Gideon. I knew your uncle, Ezra of Red Sect. He had the weaknesses of the living but his knowledge of the forbidden arts was impressive. So he cast the spell which I thought no one knew these days, and made you what you are. A Living Vampire."

"Let me UP!" she yelled, struggling without result. "I swear, I'll rip you apart!"

Baron Dralescu leered down at her. "I have had four hundred years to develop my powers, child. My will is stronger than iron. You are my slave now, like Fyodor and Anton behind you. I will give you your orders and you will obey."

"Like hell!" Nancy screamed and got to her feet, swaying and almost falling. She took two uncertain steps toward the ancient monster, drawing back her fist with the grim determination to punch him in the face. As she lurched within reach, Dralescu backhanded her with a noise sharp as a crack of thunder and Nancy flew halfway across the room to slide up against the bare wall. She rolled over and leaped up again, growling. Now her own eyes had turned bright red and her fangs had extended.

"Your kind is rare indeed," said the Vampire Lord calmly. "I do not wish to simply destroy you because you have not learned respect yet. Kneel, I say! Bow down to your master."

Again, Nancy found herself flung down to her floor, on her knees with her head forced down. She snarled and struggled, fighting the tangible will power of the ancient creature on that throne. "You goddam freak! You can't tell ME what to do!"

"You are stubborn. Breaking you will take time. Very well. Rise and approach me."

Just like that, she was free. the Living Vampire jumped up and then got hold of herself. This monster had some sort of hypnotic power she couldn't defy. Better to go along with him, she thought. "All right. You should know I'm not Nancy Gideon any more. That girl is dead. I call myself Nancy Sinister, Princess of Darkness. Maybe we can work something out between us."

The bony face smiled. "Yes. Forcing you against your will would take too long. But if you cooperate... Very well. Know that I am Sergei Dralescu. Once I was a general who commanded fifteen thousand men. Four hundred years ago I became one of the Undead, and all this time have I developed my abilities. You are a child both as one of the Breathing and as one of us. Yet because of your unique state, you offer many possibilities."

He paused so long that Nancy snorted impatiently. "Yeah? Like what?"

"You are free of many of the limitations vampires face. You are a daywalker, are you not? That alone could be extremely useful. I have been told that not long ago you gathered your own followers, that you had a score of vampires under your command. Yet they were destroyed." The crimson eyes fixed on hers. "Is that so?"

"Yeah, that's right." Nancy brushed back her black hair from where it had fallen across her face. Her eyes faded back to their normal pale blue as she started to relax. "So what's your point?"

"Consider this, little one. Here and in Europe, I have more than a thousand of our kin under my control. Imagine if you become one of my lieutenants, if I give you twenty vampires who will follow you as long as you in turn obey me. Isn't that better than being on your own against all the living?"

"I suppose," she mumbled. The Living Vampire glanced back over her shoulder at the two Undead who stood guard behind her. "But what kind of orders are you talking about?"

"I will send you with a dozen of my strongest followers. Tonight! You will slay our greatest enemy."

"Oh, I have no problem with that." Nancy grinned wickedly. "I've already met him twice. Guy with two silver knives, right?"

"Not the Dire Wolf," whispered Dralescu. "His time will come. The worst enemy of the Undead is a man named Bleak."

IV.

Almost at a run, Bane crossed midtown from the sports bar to the building on Third Avenue where his office was. Ignoring the blinking on his desk phone that meant messages, he knelt and unfastened hidden latches so he could swing the waist-high bookcase to one side on its casters. Beneath was a shallow pit he had chiseled from the concrete himself. Hauling up an old-fashioned trunk, Bane took out his field suit and quickly stripped off his regular clothes. He was wearing the flexible Trom armor that looked like dark wet silk but which offered better protection than heavy Kevlar. Long years of practice let him tug on the boots, snug pants and crewneck shirt in a few seconds. The waist-length jacket with its inner layer of Trom armor and a dozen concealed weapons and gadgets. A gunbelt held a long-barreled Smith & Wesson 38 behind his left hip. Placing the helmet on his desk, the Dire Wolf returned the trunk into the pit and picked up a strange rig from a pile of specialized equipment, then slid the bookcase back over the pit so nothing showed.

Bane hefted the leather harness thoughtfully. It had six loops which held thick wooden stakes sharpened at one end and with a steel band around each one in the middle for balance when throwing. Kenneth Dred had ordered this made for him when they had first met, so long ago. 1977. Sometimes it sank in on Bane just how long he had been fighting the Midnight War. He yanked off the field jacket and fastened the harness diagonally across his chest so he could reach the stakes quickly, then replaced the jacket but left it unzipped. He took up the helmet in the crook of one arm and glanced around the office to satisfy himself everything was in order.

Throughout all this, the matched silver daggers had remained sheathed on his forearms. He seldom let them get out of reach. Bane left his office, hurried through the lobby and out into the cold night air. Swinging left, he raced down to the IMPERIAL GARAGE on 40th Street to claim his dark green Subaru Outback. The tiny blue and red lights on the driver's visor blinked steadily, and he got in, started it up and drove out into traffic with a faint predatory smile on his face. He headed south. Long ago, he had realized he was as much a creature of the night as the monsters he hunted. Now he felt alive for the first time in weeks. As he headed over the Williamsburg Bridge to Brooklyn, the Dire Wolf went over everything he knew about this Nancy Sinister.

There had been living vampires before, but they were rare and none had been reported within his time. Nancy's uncle Ezra had been a member of Red Sect, and he had cast the Darthan spell which had first created vampirism back at the Corruption itself thirty thousand years ago. Nancy Gideon had most of the attributes of the Undead without their weaknesses. In the few months she had been cursed, she had caused a lot of trouble and claimed at least twenty random victims. It was a good thing that her victims did not become vampires in turn, or Manhattan would be seriously infested by now. Nancy Sinister seemed to be naturally cunning and clever. So far, Bane had only managed to track her down twice and both instances she had gotten away.

Not this time, though. He swore he would finish her off and end her threat for good tonight. Bane soon found himself driving through a residential area not far from Prospect Park. There was Mullaney Street, as Bleak had told him. The Dire Wolf pulled over on a side street and lowered the helmet over his head. Immediately, the inside of the visor lit up as the Trom light amplifiers kicked in. It was not quite as good as being in noon sunlight, but he could see well enough to read license plates even in the winter night. The Dire Wolf checked his gear one final time, got out and locked his car, then began walking through the darkness toward the house where a Vampire Lord was reported to be waiting.

Ahead, he saw the small one-story house Bleak had described. Although no lights were on and the house needed fresh paint and some work on the gutters, there was a shiny new Lincoln parked alongside it. What a giveaway. Bane turned the right ear pod of his helmet and adjusted the telescopic function of the visor, zooming in on the house and studying its immediate vicinity. There. A tall thin figure stirred alongside a birch tree next to the house. After a few seconds, he spotted another sentry walking in from the other end of the property. These vamps were careless, they figured they could not be seen in the dark winter night.

The Dire Wolf slid the visor up into its track inside the helmet. He preferred to rely on his own honed senses and instincts in combat. Thirty years of Kumundu training at Tel Shai and the tagra tea diet had given him night vision equal to that of any nocturnal animal. Silent and swift, he leaped up the slight hill toward the house, moving instinctively to not step on anything that might make a noise. In his all-black outfit, he was close to invisible on this moonless overcast night. Bane raced in without a sound, drawing a stake from the harness across the chest.

The vampire standing by the tree stiffened and sniffed the air audibly. They could smell the blood of living people. The Undead turned and saw the figure in black hurtling toward him, but too late. The stake was already spinning end over end in the air to thump hard directly into his chest. Truly dead at last, the creature fell straight down without even a gasp. Bane crouched low over the body and froze motionless. The other sentry was approaching in confusion, having seen only a brief flash of motion. "Anton...?" he whispered in his hollow voice as he drew near.

When the creature was close enough, the Dire Wolf leaped up, spinning, blasting a steel-capped boot to the center of the lifeless face with brutal impact. Even though an Undead could feel no pain, that savage blow knocked him off balance and he fell on his back. Just as he hit the ground, Bane pounced and slammed one of the stakes into the vampire's chest with both hands. This time, there was the faintest sigh of air leaving lungs because the Undead had taken a breath with which to speak.

Standing, holding his own breath, Bane listened intently but could hear nothing suspicious. All his instincts were crawling with the sensation of imminent danger, but he saw nothing nearby. He had to leave the stakes in the deanimated vampires, which left him with four. The Dire Wolf inhaled deeply, straightened and marched up to the front door of the rundown cottage, gripped the knob and yanked the door open.

In a bare room stripped of all furnishings except for heavy drapes over the windows, Baron Dralescu sat on his throne and watched Bane enter. The Vampire Lord did not stir, except for the movement of his lambent red eyes as they followed the intruder.

"About time I found you," the Dire Wolf said calmly, closing the door behind him. "Where's Nancy?"

"Dire Wolf..." hissed the ancient creature. "You are as arrogant as I had heard. Kneel before me! Swear allegiance to your new master."

Bane felt the waves of mental force wash over him, potent enough in their intensity, but he knew how to deflect them by concentration. It had been one of the earliest skills he had learned at Tel Shai. "You're wasting your time and mine, Baron. Where is she?"

The Vampire Lord rose to his feet smoothly enough, his taloned hands working the air as if he could already feel them sinking into his enemy's flesh. "I have sent her on her first mission in my service, Breather. Hah! You will be sorry you learned where she is bound."

"Come on, come on!" Bane snapped. "Let's skip the sinister speeches. Where is Nancy Sinister?"

"She has gone to slay the greatest enemy of my kind," Dralescu said. He chuckled low and added, "The Human you call Bleak."

"That's all I needed to know." Bane thumbed a stud on the crest of his helmet and a bright white beam glared out to illuminate the entire room. He did not need it to see and his eyes adjusted almost instantly, but the Undead was taken back by the blinding flare that shone on him and he raised one hand to cover his eyes. A wooden stake was whistling through the air. Dralescu slapped it aside and roared as he rushed forward toward his enemy. The vampire's fangs dripped wetly in the bright light and his powerful claws stabbed toward the living man who dared defy him.

Silver flashed in the bright light from Bane's helmet, too quickly to be followed and Baron Dralescu screamed as he fell to his knees. Ensorcelled by the immortal Eldarin, those silver daggers had slain many creatures of the night over seventy years. The Vampire Lord crouched on the bare wooden floor, clutching at his sliced-open chest and unable to rise. "Ensalir...." he gasped.

"Yep, ensalir. Sacred silver. These daggers were given to me to Kenneth Dred himself, and he received them from the Eldarin. Goodbye, Baron." Bane kicked the crouching Undead hard with one boot, knocking him over on his back. One dagger sank to the hilt in the unbeating heart and the other slid deeply across Dralescu's throat, almost severing the head. Bane hesitated. He knew that the silver daggers had disrupted the Darthan spell which had animated the corpse of Baron Sergei Dralescu all these centuries. But he wanted to be sure. Sheathing his daggers and fetching the wooden stake that the Undead had struck aside, the Dire Wolf plunged it into the creature's heart and leaned on it with all his weight.

Bane let out a relieved breath and turned off the light from his helmet. He had wanted to put an end to Dralescu for years. Now to go help Bleak. The Dire Wolf headed from the room, back out into the night and although he moved quickly, he did not seem to be frantic. If these vampires expected to find a helpless old man in Bleak, they had another think coming.

V.

In the white Toyota Camry she had stolen from her victim early that night, Nancy Sinister pulled over next to a waist-high stone wall that ran around the estate. High wrough-iron gates stood open, and a gravel driveway led up to a huge four-story mansion that sat up on the hill. Small lamposts cast subdued light along the driveway. The Princess of Darkness whistled appreciatively. "This guy isn't hurting for cash," she said.

Next to her in the passenger seat, one of Dralescu's vampires made a sour muttering noise. "Bleak has slain many of our brethren. He was known as Single Cross back forty years ago. Long have we ached to slay him."

"Aye," came a hollow voice from the back seat where three more of the Undead sat. "Bleak must die."

"Well, tonight's the night," Nancy said lightly. "Listen, you stiffs know I'm a special case, right? I can walk in sunlight, I can laugh at holy objects. Most likely this geezer will have a few crucifixes nailed up, stuff like that, but that won't bother me. Let's get going." She turned off the engine and slid out from behind the wheel. Slower, more stiffly, the four Undead followed her.

One came around to stare down at Nancy. All these vampires looked very similar and were dressed in identical long black coats, so she hadn't even tried to tell them apart. They were just her soldiers. Now, the one who had sat in front intoned in a ghostly voice, "You do not seem to be truly one of us...URK"

His voice was choked off as Nancy seized him by the throat and lifted him up off his feet, using only one arm. "Take a good look, loser," she hissed. Her eyes had turned bright red and her fangs had lowered. She shook the creature violently. "I am more of a vampire than you will ever be. I am a new breed. You had better be afraid of me!" She threw him back against the car, then swung around to glare at the other three. "The rest of you have any problems with me being in charge?"

The vampires lowered their heads and muttered inaudibly. One said, "Our Lord Dralescu has commanded us to obey you tonight. After that.. we shall see."

"Really? Well, we SHALL see." Nancy turned sharply toward the mansion, her black hair swinging, and stared up at it. "There's our boy. Time to rock and roll. Follow me," and with that she started striding quickly up the gravel driveway. The four Undead trod close behind her.

As she approached the house, Nancy felt a trepidation she had not known since her days among the living. This Bleak character had a lot of vampires thirsting to kill him, she expected there would be some sort of defenses set up, but she saw nothing. The gate had been left open by the road. She couldn't spot any closed-circuit cameras anywhere. It puzzled her. The more she studied the mansion, the more imposing it looked. Very old and well-kept. The huge front door was seven feet high, flanked by carved wooden pillars, with a bronze knocker and the name plate CROSS. Two lights were on in cast iron settings over that door. She stepped up to it and tried the lever handles, finding it was unlocked.

The Living Vampire hesitated for the barest second, then stepped into a foyer big as much living rooms, with benches and stands holding potted plants and a massive oak coatrack had held a single down-filled jacket on a hook, with a scarf and leather gloves on a shelf beside it. Two swinging doors were set in front of her. For an instant, she considered sending one of the others in first but she realized that would be showing weakness. She pressed through those doors into a huge drawing room, high-ceilinged and lit by a crystal chandelier eight feet above her head. Scattered on the marble floor, which was decorated with alternating black and white squares, were clusters of couches and easy chairs, with a long table running one wall. Against the far wall was an ornate fireplace, but nothing burned within it. To her left, a bannistered staircase rose to where a walkway ran around the drawing room, with rows of doors on the second floor behind it.

"Kind of impressive," she admitted. "Come on you guys, let's spread out."

As the four vampires moved past her and began to fan out in different directions, one approached a tall cabinet of polished dark wood. His foot stepped on a black tile and it sank down slightly with a click. Before he could react, that cabinet door sprang open and three slim wooden shafts fired out at him like arrows. One sank into his right arm, one missed but the third slid home into his heart with a solid thud. The Undead fell over backwards as if he welcomed true death.

Nancy hissed, "Nobody move. Hold it. He stepped on a black square. There are gonna be more traps, all of you watch where you put your big feet." They began moving forward again, stepping carefully. But as one of the vampires trod gingerly on a white square, that tile depressed with a click and a tapestry on one wall drew aside to reveal a lifesize crucifix of white marble. Beautifully carved, the figure of Jesus was lifelike in every detail, even to the crown of thorns. The three vampires convulsed at the sight and fell to the cold floor, writhing in pain and unable to rise.

"What is WRONG with you fools?" yelled Nancy. She leaped over, found the cord and tugged it to cover the crucifix again. The sight of it had not affected her. "It's just a piece of stone, it can't hurt you." She kicked them and grabbed them by the arms to force them to get up. "Some terrifying monsters you guys are." It took a few minutes before they regained their nerve. The Living Vampire slapped one of them hard enough to kill a normal Human. "Come on, let's get going."

Again, they started to move, one of them heading toward the staircase and two others towards the door at the far end of the gigantic room. Once again, a tile clicked underfoot and they all froze absolutely still. The sound of water rushing could be heard. Around the edges of the room, encircling them, were shallow troughs they had not noticed before and now cold clear water was being pumped through those troughs.

"Running water!" wailed a vampire. "We cannot cross that. We are trapped here!"

"Aw, knock it off," Nancy told him. "I'm here. I'll find a way to block it. Keep going." But this time she was the one who stepped on a tile that set off a hidden trap. The chandelier overhead suddenly blazed up brighter than a searchlight. Full-spectrum light identical to sunshine flooded the huge room, as if it were high noon. The three vampires dropped to the floor and rolled about in agony. This time Nancy could not roust them. One of the Undead convulsed and went limp as he passed into true death, the other two were not far behind.

The Princess of Darkness snarled in rage. The artificial sunlight did not bother her. She swung around and saw the old man who had entered the room from a side door. Bleak watched her with a mocking smile on his weathered face. Below average height and spare, he was not an imposing figure in his slippers, dark slacks and white dress shirt with the cuffs rolled back. Oddly, he was chewing something and the crunch was clearly audible.

"You!" she yelled. "You think you're pretty smart with these traps. But you're dealing with me now." Nancy rushed at and seized the front of his shirt with one hand just as he spit a mouthful of gralic chunks in her face. The stinging and burning took her by surprise. The garlic clung to her skin and she had trouble getting it off. Gasping as much with indignation as pain, she staggered back away from Bleak. Her nerve broke. She started to run toward the front with no other thought than escape but she stopped short as she reached the open front door.

There stood Jeremy Bane, with a silver dagger in each hand, staring at her with merciless pale grey eyes.

"Wait, wait, hold it," she said in a little girl voice. "I'm just a minor. You wouldn't hurt me..."

The Dire Wolf did not speak. He lunged forward like a fencer and one of the daggers pierced her heart cleanly. Nancy Sinister reeled back, trying to seize the knife and pull it out but she stumbled and fell onto her back. She was still clinging to her sorcerous half-life, making gurgling noises and holding the dagger by its hilt.

As Bleak came over, Bane nodded to him. "I already took care of Baron Dralescu and two of his goons. Looks like your traps nailed those four. That just leaves this vampire." He took a wooden stake from his harness and offered it to the old man. "You want to do the honors?"

"No...." wheezed the Princess of Darkness, trying to get up but failing. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth. "Please don't."

"Get your sticker out of her," Bleak said. As the Dire Wolf pulled his dagger free, Bleak immediately jabbed the pointed end of the stake just beneath the Living Vampire's left breast and leaned down on it with all his weight. She went limp and her red eyes faded back to light blue as animation spell left her corpse.

"Now it's over," he said, getting up again with a little difficulty. "Glad to see you, Jeremy. You always had a knack for showing up at the right time."

Bane glanced around at the four lifeless forms sprawled on the marble floor. In the brilliant light from the chandelier, they looked harmless,even a little pathetic. "I don't think you needed my help much, old friend. You had the situation under control."

With a snort, Bleak went over and plopped down in an easy chair. "I'm too old for this stuff anymore. The most excitement I can handle is opening the mail these days." He pointed at the body at Bane's feet. "I suppose I should feel a little sorry for her. So young. Just a kid. But then I remember my Alice and Alicia."

"She knew what she was doing," Bane snapped as he came over to sink into a chair next to him. "She asked her uncle to cast the vampirism spell. This was exactly what she wanted." He shook his head angrily. "Well, I hope she enjoyed it while it lasted."

9/10/2014

"Nancy Sinister"

10/21/- 10/22/2008

The doorbell rang at ten to eleven that night, and Bane jumped up off the couch. He was surprised because he had kept the location of his apartment relatively private and he had never had more than a handful of visitors. This was unexpected. As it happened, he had been doing nothing more interesting than sorting out clippings about mysterious events from various newspapers. He was fully dressed except for his boots, which he slipped on, and his sportjacket which he grabbed from the back of the couch as he moved to the door. Bane had an excited gleam in his grey eyes, he thought this could mean excitement in one way or another.

On top of the bookcase by the door to the hall was a 12" black and white monitor getting signals from the tiny camera he had concealed outside. Bane pushed the ON button and studied the image. Right outside his door stood a single person, with no one else in sight. White male about thirty, well-dressed in a charcoal grey suit with white shirt and black tie, neat short haircut, in good athletic trim. Bane's training let him observe from the way the man stood that he was carrying a gun behind the right hip, but he also saw that the man's body language indicated no immediate threat was intended.

In a relaxed ready stance from which he could react in any direction, Bane unfastened the chain and unlocked the bolt and kicked the rubber wedge away before he could open the door. "Yeah?"

"Mr Bane. You haven't met me before, but here's my ID." The man held out his wallet and Bane took it without taking a wary eye off the visitor. The wallet held a laminated card with a picture and a thumbprint. UNITED STATES DEPARTMENT OF DEFENSE - MANDATE 2319A. STANLEY M POWELL. The Dire Wolf tilted the card and saw it had the hologram of the Great Seal at an angle, then handed it back to Powell.

"The Mandate, eh? Your agency and I have a bit of a history," he said coldly.

"It's not a business where anyone can trust anyone," answered Powell. "My chief sent me to ask you to come to our facility tonight."

"And why would I do that?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer that. He did say you would be interested in what you find."

Bane hesitated for only a few seconds. It had been a slack week at the Dire Wolf agency, with not even a hint of an interesting case. He got bored too easily for his own good. "All right," he said. "Let me turn out the lights." He still had his 38 holstered behind his left hip from when he had come home and the matched silver daggers were as always sheathed on his forearms beneath his sleeves.

Powell waited in the hall. As Bane met him, closing the door which clicked and buzzed as the alarms became armed, the Mandate agent said, "We've known about this apartment from the start, of course."

"Of course," Bane replied, not happy with the remark but not terribly surprised. It was only his emergency hideway down in Chinatown that he had tried to keep completely secret.

"But you have done such excellent work for us over the years, despite our frequent disagreements, that the Council didn't want to bother you at home before. Tonight is urgent."

"All right, I've already taken the bait." As he preceded the agent down the stairs, the Dire Wolf knew there was actually no decision to be made. He didn't owe the Mandate anything, he had carried out assignments because he had wanted to, not because he worked for them, and more than once they had tried to leave him holding the bag. But he also knew he had to find out what would make those cold devious spymasters send an agent for them this time.

At the first floor, another agent stood just inside the front door. He looked quite a bit like Powell, just ten years older and with lines of cynicism marking a bitter mouth. The two men nodded to each other. Bane stood between them as the older agent opened the door. Parked two spaces down on Third Avenue was a black Lincoln with tinted windows. Just once, thought Bane, just once I'd like to see these spooks show up in a canary yellow VW Bug. Never happen. Powell opened the back door and the Dire Wolf obligingly got in. The car smelled brand new. As the two agents got up front, the older one driving, Bane said, "What can you guys tell me on the way?"

"Nothing," Powell answered. "You'll be briefed when appropriate."

"Fair enough," Bane said. He watched as they headed east and then south, rolling past the United Nations building. With a faint smile, he saw the incognito headquarters of INTERCEPT and wondered if the two organizations had ever clashed. Most likely. STIGMA had been reported active lately as well, the Wu Lung branch up to no good. Manhattan is crawling with secret organizations these days, Bane reflected. The FBI's own Department 21 Black had called on him a month ago about reported Ghouls. Who else was running around the city tonight? Basilisk? The White Web?

They reached what looked like just another office building, a rectangle of chrome and glass windows reaching up eleven stories, set back from 1st Avenue by its own parking lot. The Mandate agent turned in and pulled up to a guard booth which had a horizontal metal bar protruding to block their path and suddenly put the car in park. "Trouble," the older agent growled.

Bane had already spotted the body and was out of the car moving toward it. The head and one arm of a middle-aged man hung out of the open window of the guard booth. The Dire Wolf sought a pulse at the exposed throat and brought up his fingers with blood on them. As the two Mandate agents came up behind him, Bane tilted the dead man's head to show two ragged holes on the throat with blood smeared around them. "Still wet," he said. "Let's get inside."

The three of them headed for the main entrance, wide glass doors under a chrome plaque that read WORLDWIDE LITERACY DRIVE with a drawing of an open book behind a globe. Powell yanked on one of the doors and was visibly surprised to find it unlocked. The lobby had tiled floors and marble walls, two elevators side by side and a semi-circular desk with an empty chair behind it. Bane flashed around that desk and found another corpse... a big muscular man in a dark blue uniform, gun still in holster. The same bite marks were on his neck.

"Just what were you fellows holding here?" Bane snapped. "Tell me you're not trying to capture vampires!"

Powell had drawn his gun, a Smith & Wesson .45 revolver, and he held it in both hands. "I can't understand why no alarm went off. The prisoner must have escaped just as we were pulling up." He picked up the phone on the desk and slammed the receiver down angrily. "Dead. The prisoner knew just what lines to cut."

The older agent had stepped over to the elevator and pushed the button to summon the cage. "Report to Control first, find out the situation. That's our next move."

As the three of them stood together, the elevator door slid open with a ding. There was another corpse in there, lying on the floor face up. It was a young woman in a white blouse and dark blue skirt, her black hair clotted with blood.

"Robin," said the older agent. "She worked in Records. I didn't know her except to say hello in the hall. Three casualties! And how many more?" He knelt and gently checked but she was of course dead. The other elevator opened and Agent Powell said, "Come on, Pratt. We have to hurry and see what's going on."

"Yes, of course." He joined them in the elevator. Bane watched as Powell pressed the button for the top floor, held it down and then pushed the basement button as well. A chime sounded and the cage descended, even though they were on the ground floor and went down at least three levels."You shouldn't be seeing this," he told the Dire Wolf, "but these are extraordinary circumstances."

The elevator door opened to reveal a hall of gleaming stainless steel lit by red bulbs in the ceiling. Powell held up his ID card and swung it from side to side, and a series of clicks sounded. They headed quickly down the hall to a metal door that had no identifying sign on it, just a red light bulb over its top. As they approached, the bulb switched to bright green and the door opened. The three men entered an old-fashioned office with booklined walls, comfortable armchairs, a deep plush rug and a cherrywood desk topped with IN and OUT baskets. Behind it sat a man Bane recognized with shock.

( the rest of the story )