Chapter 1
Pay Attention, There’s A Lot Of Stuff You Need To Know
If you have read this far, then you probably have guessed what I am. Who I am is probably still a mystery. It is said that all lycanthropes, or werewolves as most humans refer to us as, have three names. The first is the name the lycanthrope was given by his parents at birth. The second is the new name given to him at Initiation by the lord of the county. The third is the familiar name your pack gives you. My first, or human name, is Marcus Edward Graven, III. It has been a long time since anyone has called me by that name. My lycanthrope name is Marcus Phoenix Badmoon. The Lord of Hillsborough named me this for two reasons. My middle name signifies the fact that I played dead during my Initiation, and then appeared to come back to life at a rather opportune time (i.e., ambush). The Badmoon surname itself has a very important meaning. I am the first lycanthrope in Florida not to have any known lycanthrope roots. Usually one or both of the parents or grandparents of a lycanthrope are also a lycanthrope, and occasionally it shows up in cousins, but I have no known relatives that are also lycanthropes. Because I had no lycanthrope family, other than the Guild, the name Badmoon was the only one that was appropriate according to tradition. My pack name was given to me after I completed the training for the Hunters Guild. To my Guild brothers, I am known simply as Ranger. I don’t know why the instructors at the camp gave me that name, but it seemed to suit me.
As I stated before, I was born Marcus Edward Graven III in Boise, Idaho. My father, Marcus Edward Graven, Jr. moved the family of three to Tampa, Florida shortly after I was born, where he had been offered a promotion in his job as an accountant. I grew up in a single-story house in the middle of the suburbs where my parents added a baby brother to the fold four years later. My childhood was pleasant, as I had two loving parents and a little brother to kick around. I also had a group of other boys I played with that lived in my neighborhood. We had all the interesting adventures that all young boys are expected to have, including getting into our fair share of trouble. However, I always felt that something was missing from my life. When I had tried to explain this to my parents, they had shrugged it off, telling me that I was just impatient to grow up. I accepted that explanation out of innocent belief. The part that was missing from my life, however, showed up one night when I was fourteen.
Most lycanthropes go through their first change in the darkness of slumber. A dream of a wolf beckoning me to the cravex accompanied my first change. When I woke up, my bed had been torn in half. My brother was standing in the doorway with a look of sheer terror in his eyes. Except, he seemed much smaller to me. As I gazed into the mirror, the truth became evident. I was a lycanthrope, a werewolf. I leapt through my bedroom window in my confusion and panic and fled to the place in my dream. I never saw my human family again. According to the Guildmaster, they left Tampa shortly after that night. They believed a madman in a costume had killed me. They could no longer deal with their grief, and believed that moving from Tampa would help. I personally believe that the Hunters Guild may have had a hand in this, but I am not certain.
It was there at the cravex that I met my first pack. A note of our society is needed here. Most lycanthropes stay in the pack that finds them for their entire lives. However, the modern human world that we hide within has forced upon the lycanthropes the need to migrate between packs. However, this is still done very rarely and only when absolutely necessary, as it goes against our natural instincts. Those of us who work in the humans’ workforce have been known to lose a job or promotion for refusing to leave their hometown and pack. As for myself, I have had only two packs: the one that found me that cold October night some fifteen years ago, and the Hunters Guild. The lycanthropes at the cravex took me in and made me feel welcome – at first. Soon afterward, I could feel a change in their disposition to me. Nothing I could point my finger at, but it was obviously there. At the Rite of Discovery, I found out why the others had been keeping their distance. The entire lycanthrope race consists of maybe a dozen or so separate lines. Hillsborough’s lycanthropes came from maybe four or five of those lines and populated the thirty-odd packs spread through Tampa, Brandon, Ruskin, and Wimauma. During the Rite of Discovery, the Spiritmaster saw none of these lines within me. This was an unforgivable sin for many, while others seemed very wary of me. Normally tysach is a harsh but enjoyable time for a pup. My only enjoyment came from beating those who thought they were superior to me because they could trace their own lineage for centuries, while I had no idea how I had become a lycanthrope. This stigma was formalized at the Rite of Initiation. The name of Marcus Graven was stripped from me, as well as any identity that that name had for me. I was now Marcus Badmoon. Any connections I had to my life before Discovery were gone. The Lord of Hillsborough, the first Lord Vollen, officially welcomed me into the world of the lycanthrope. I celebrated my new “acceptance” with the rest of the pack in a large feast held at the cravex. It was there that the Hunters Guild recruited me. I cannot tell anymore of this part of my life. The identity of the recruiters and the actual nature of the Guild’s training is a secret enforced by a code of silence that no other race has been able to corrupt. It is an experience that bonds hunters together beyond any familial or romantic links. No matter whether I liked a hunter or not, I would sacrifice anything but the completion of a job for that hunter.
There are a few misconceptions that need to be cleared up before the story may continue. Werewolves, or lycanthropes as we call ourselves, have been surrounded in human myth and imagination for eons. Some of what you have heard of us is true. A great deal is not. For instance, we are vulnerable to silver, but not wolfsbane; in fact, wolfsbane is actually a medicine for us. It is painful for us and after the first couple of applications, most lycanthropes flinch from it the way a human child would flinch from a particularly nasty medicine. This is probably were that tale got started. We can shape-shift to three distinct forms, but we do not shed our forms because of the phase of the moon. We have a tie to the moon, but mostly that is due to the fact that we are a nocturnal race by nature, and as early humans worshiped the sun, we have given the moon a slightly deific presence in our own culture. We don’t worship it – that is reserved for the spirits of our Ancestors – but we do use it to track time between rites and when it will be easier and harder to contact the spirits. We cannot make someone a lycanthrope by biting them. It is something that a lycanthrope is born as, and he or she has no say in the matter at all. That myth was most likely started because a common method of implanting the need to go to the cravex is transmitted through a bite. The pain helps the pack conditioning on a new pup.
The truth is we are individuals of a race that, for reasons still not completely understood, gained supernatural powers. We were given the ability to blend into our prey and hunt from within. We are not the humans that we show ourselves to be as we walk down the concrete sidewalks. We are not the wolves that run through the forests and plains. We are the lycanthrope, the creature of wolf and man that has hunted the human race from the beginning of our time. We do not look for a place to fit in between the two camouflages and their societies, as human literature attempts to depict us. We are not torn between what we are composed of, as much as human writers try to make us out. We know what we are every time we look at each other in true form, feel the world open up to us through our supernatural senses, and continue the hunt. It is the hunt, the true hunt, which defines us and makes us what we are.
The lycanthropes live in the world beyond human vision. We are not alone in this world either. The vampires, the pathwalkers, the witch hunters, the ghosts, the wizards, and the alien Turak all live in the realm of the unseen. Humans, with their shielded vision, interact with us on a daily basis, but never realize it. They see the results of our fighting, but explain it away as natural phenomena, or have a rational explanation. The conflicts within this community of the supernatural have repercussions on the seen world, but rarely the other way around. How do normal humans compete with the supernatural elements? Simple, normal humans have one power that they rarely realize, the ability to create. Technology and its related areas are humanity’s power, and one, at least until recently, they have been lax in utilizing.
My story is not about the mysteries of the supernatural. It is not looking for my kind’s past or its place in the great scheme of things. My story is about power, pure and simple. Most of the participants in my story happen to be creatures of the supernatural. The basis for the story I am about to relate began during an escalation of hostilities between the Tampa Council of the Vampire, or the TCV, and the Lord of Hillsborough, ruler of all the lycanthrope packs within the county of Hillsborough, Florida, which includes the city of Tampa.
Since the two races met each other back during that Blood Moon so long ago, there has always been a blood feud. In the beginning, it was over the humans. Over time, the reasons have changed, but the conflict remained. It wasn’t until the beginning of the twentieth century that the two races began to understand that humans’ technology was beginning to overcome the old ways of fighting. With the new weapons that were being developed at the time, both the lycanthropes and the vampires decided that centuries-long feud would become a bloodbath that neither race would survive. Assuming, of course, that one of the other factions didn’t finish us both off first. The aloof and god-like pathwalkers had threatened our races with such a fate before. The older generations didn’t believe the truth. Until the First World War.
The way that the humans killed each other with reckless abandon convinced all doubters that the standing open war between the lycanthropes and the vampires was no longer acceptable if either race was to survive. So, the Peace was forged during hard negotiations between the Emperor of the Lycanthropes and the Great Nosferatu Convention. Only during the time of the Great Fatherland War, known to humans as World War II, was the Peace set aside. However, it quickly resumed after the rogue vampire who pulled the strings of the Nazi Empire was killed and the original vampire leadership resumed its place. The Peace ruled out the open fighting, but left the door open for covert operations. With that, the Hunters Guild took on their new role as the aristocracy’s weapons. We became the enforcers of the aristocracy’s edicts.
I straddled the big Yamaha cruiser I had just recently “acquired.” The engine rumbled beneath me as I remembered the look of sheer terror on the former owner’s face before I ended his pathetic life. He had thought he was some sort of super-thug rider, and he actually attacked me when I asked if I could walk with his group. I had given him my cover story, but something offended him, and he tried to cut me with a fairly decent sized blade. That ended when I used his own blade on him. Humans were fucking stupid sometimes. I couldn’t complain too much. I had a bike which completed my disguise for the job that I had received.
According to the file that the Guildmaster gave to me, a young-looking vampire was stalking in the lycanthrope-held section of Ybor City. It was a small swath bordered by I-4 to the north, Seventh Avenue to the south, and 22nd Ave and Nebraska Avenues on the sides. Although the lycanthropes tended to stay out of Tampa proper, they had secured sections in Ybor City, Channelside, and in Westshore. Most of the time, the sections are run like Free Berlin was during the Cold War era of the humans. They are guarded zealously, and leeches are only allowed in to do small amounts of business, usually diplomatic work or something involving the others that populate our world That said, leeches did not come onto our territory without specific permission. A leech hunting on our grounds without permission was a slap across the face of lycanthrope society by the Tampa Council of Vampires, who regulated their citizens with the same vigor that the lord ran the lycanthropes in the county. A few appeals had been made by Lord Stephen Vollen, the Lord of Hillsborough County, to the TCV, but the vampires refused to sanction the brazen leech. So, I had been selected by my Guildmaster to sanction him for the TCV.
I had begun the hunt by tracking the leech the previous few nights. He had joined one of the local weekend biker gangs that frequent the lively downtown district. As I observed him, I figured that he was a young and uneducated leech. Smart leeches congregate amongst their own kind and on their own territory, not venturing forth into enemy-held parts of the city without good reasons. It was safer that way, both for the leech, and for the two societies as a whole. I had followed him the previous night as
he charmed three young ladies and fed on them in the darkened corners of Ybor. I felt I had learned his patterns. Moreover, I knew I could detect his voice when he used his supernatural abilities. This night, I was going to rid the lycanthropes of this insulting pest. This night, the hunt was on, and my prey didn’t even know he was being hunted.
The first part of any hunt is to blend into the environment, which is why I was in human form. My colleagues in the Guild had found some clothing favored by the human bikers. A pair of denim jeans and a black t-shirt was covered with leather leggings and a black leather jacket. Dark work boots completed my outfit. For the kill, I was armed with the weapons favored by the Guild. Under the jacket, in a shoulder holster, was my personal sidearm, a Heckler & Koch USP in .45 ACP, loaded with an advanced type of silver bullet based on a Federal Ammunition design. We called them Silver Shoks, and our kin in Federal made them for us in limited numbers. Two spare magazines loaded with Silver Shok ammunition hung under the other shoulder. A small Ruger SP101 .357 Magnum snub-nosed revolver, also loaded with Silver Shoks, fit inside of my left leg in a boot holster. A silver-plated throwing knife was sheathed in the other boot. To complete my ensemble, I had a long silver dagger in a small of the back sheath. With my new motorcycle, I was ready to venture forth into the dark world of the supernatural hunt.
I slowly rode through the streets searching for my prey. The old Cuban architecture of Ybor’s cigar manufacturing plants melded with the more modern look of Centro Ybor. Centro Ybor was a large entertainment development that housed numerous clubs, shops, and a movie theater. It had been developed in the early nineties in order revitalize the historic Ybor. By luck, a great deal of it was within lycanthrope-held territory. The air was filled with a mixture of smells ranging from alcohol and human perspiration to car fumes and the odd ozone smell created by the streetcar. The lights and sounds of the nearby clubs were intense, creating a haze of its own, but the haze fell away as I heard the distinctive harmonics of the vampire’s supernatural voice. The words were indistinguishable, but the tainted tones reached right into my waiting ears.
I followed the supernatural tones to a small restaurant just beyond the lights and glitz of the complex. It was an upscale restaurant, catering to the higher-class of people that came down to Ybor. This was a departure from the way he had hunted his prey the earlier nights. This was why I didn’t plan my jobs down to the most minute detail, like some of the other hunters. I expected minor variations and tried to anticipate any opportunities for Mr. Murphy and his infamous law to fuck things up. One thing I hadn’t anticipated was such a radical shift in the leech’s hunting grounds. Usually, leeches were very finicky about the kind of humans they hunted. A lot of it had to do with their obsession with appearances. That said, I had to make the decision if the sudden shift in the leech’s behavior was enough to make the job too difficult to complete tonight. I shook my head. The Guildmaster had made it abundantly clear that this situation needed to be resolved tonight unless there was no other option. The change in the leech was annoying, but it could be overcome. I quickly removed the leather leggings and tried to slick back my hair. It wasn’t perfect, but it should give me some concealment amongst the humans. At least long enough to spot my prey.
I entered the restaurant, listening for my prey’s voice. Next to the main dining room was a raised room, used by the owners as a bar and lounge. It was here I had my first glimpse of my prey that night. He was fully camouflaged amongst the humans. He appeared to be in his early twenties, with sleek black hair that he brushed straight back. His normally pale skin was brightened with his previous kills, and the judicious use of cosmetics. The biker clothing was gone, replaced by a casual suit favored by the young men of the business world. His long fingers caressed the shoulder of an attractive young brunette, apparently his next chosen victim. She certainly looked enough like the type he favored. Her long brown hair was exquisitely styled, matching with the high-priced red dress she was wearing. From the intelligence I could see in her blue eyes, she wasn’t a bar bimbo, more than likely a professional of some type hoping to meet one of her own class and stature.
I was disappointed greatly as I stepped in from the waiting area and into the lounge. Although several members of the clientele noticed my less than high-class looks -and acknowledged it with an either a disgusted glare or an amused glance – the vampire didn’t notice me at all. I crossed the lounge, staring several of the more disapproving looks down, and sat at the table behind him and his intended. Much of the last-minute anxiety fell away when I walked behind him. An experienced vampire would have immediately noticed a lycanthrope behind him, or at least had shown more observance to those around him. If he had simply looked around once, he would have noticed me, and known what was going to happen. Those who live in our realm are able to see other members and recognize them for what they are. As I lowered myself into the chair, I allowed myself a small sigh. My hopes for a good hunt had ended. Now all there was to do was to end his pathetic existence – violently.
The woman was strong-willed and tried to resist the supernatural voice that the leech applied, but I knew that her resistance wouldn’t last for much longer. After a couple minutes of watching him work his charms, I scanned the lounge. I didn’t see any other supernatural creatures in the bar. The humans were enjoying their drinks and the insignificant chatter of their fellow humans. After my original novelty wore off, they promptly forgot about me. None of them noticed me slowly drawing the pistol from under my jacket. Contrary to Guild doctrine, I have always carried my pistol with a bullet in the chamber, the hammer cocked back, and the safety switch on, or as it is often referred to by gun enthusiasts, in Condition One, also known as “cocked-and-locked.” This type of situation was the reason why. I lowered the pistol under the table and flicked the safety off. The damned fool didn’t even hear the mechanical snap. Even without the supernatural hearing of my true form, I know I would have heard it, even over the din of the bar. It was too unique a sound for someone in my line of work. Too bad. His mistake.
I silently rose from my table and leveled the pistol at the leech. It barked twice as I double-tapped the USP, and sent two Silver Shok bullets into the back of my target. Several people screamed at the sound of the pistol and the sight of the leech’s chest exploding in a mass of bone and black fluid. The mass of the bar patrons began to stampede for the exit. I ignored them as I grabbed the still-twitching body of the leech off the floor and threw it on the bar. The woman he had been talking to was in shock. She didn’t move at all as I shed my human body for that of the true lycanthrope. The leech poured black fluid, the end result of their use of human blood, out onto the bar. I picked up a bar stool and smashed it against the bar itself, liberating a leg. There are very few things that can kill a vampire. Fire, silver, and wood are the most common. The famous staking death of the movies is a fearful and painful reality for the leeches. The trick, however, is getting close enough to do the dirty deed. Both lycanthropes and leeches deal archan wounds to each other, or wounds that cannot be healed with the supernatural speed of other wounds, so any fight the damned things put up take forever to heal. Most hunters wouldn’t even bother staking a vampire if there was any other decent course of action available. That said, vampires feared staking more than either fire or silver, and the Guildmaster expressly wanted a staking to properly convey the lord’s displeasure. The good this was that after two hits of high-powered silver bullets to the torso, this vampire wasn’t putting up any fight as I slammed the wooden leg through his torn chest. The few twitches that coursed through his body ceased instantly. However, his staking was not enough. Not according to my boss, the Guildmaster. The lycanthropes had to show the leeches that we were serious about the vampire’s intrusion into our territory, and weren’t pleased about their failure to take action of their own. The Guildmaster had foolishly left me in charge of making the statement. It was time to become creative.
I hefted the dead vampire onto my shoulder. It was changing form in its final death. All lycanthropes and vampires revert to true form at the time of death. It was a small quirk of the supernatural. The leech’s intended victim was completely still as I put the body over my shoulder. I looked into her eyes. They were vacant, almost death-like. She had seen too much. Since the rise of reason and the denial of magic and the supernatural by human culture, humans reactively deny the visible consequences of the supernatural. If they see lycanthropes and vampires fighting, humans discount what they see and rationalize. However, if a person, who has not been properly introduced to the supernatural, sees too much, too close, their mind can’t quite handle it. All of them become catatonic. A few come out of their catatonia and become the witch-hunters that appear every so often. What’s worse, the witch-hunter’s fanatical belief in the extermination of the supernatural gives them the ability to cause archan wounds. Without hesitation, I put a single round into her head, killing her instantly. I didn’t want the possibility of another witch-hunter being born by the night’s fun and games. If the first reaction to this act is disgust and revulsion by the senseless violence, then an encounter with a witch-hunter is recommended. They are a grim and zealous lot with absolutely no moral compunctions when dealing with our kind. They possess a righteous savagery that makes everything I do pale by comparison.
The body of the vampire, now seven feet tall and much heavier than when I first lifted him up, fit nicely over the handlebars of the motorcycle. I kicked the motorcycle to life and sped out the area. Police cars flew by me, racing to the scene, but they didn’t concern me in the least. I knew that no police would pull me over, not while I was in true form. As far as their minds were concerned, I was another motorcyclist carrying an extremely large package on my bike. That was the way the human mind worked when it came to casual dealings with my world. I came to a small garage that I had rented several days ago when the Guildmaster had first given me the job. There I had parked a van I had stolen a couple of days ago. Inside the stolen van were a few items I was planning on using to make the “statement.” A grin flittered across my muzzle as I nailed the body into position, finishing my artistic “expression.”
The drive to the Hall was slow and uneventful. The Hall, where the TCV convened its meetings, was one of the more spectacular houses that graced Bayshore Boulevard. This one was a small mansion, with white painted walls coordinating with a well-manicured lawn of flowers and natural grass. I parked the van on the street, and lugged the “statement” up onto the lawn. Planting it firmly into the ground, I pulled out a cheap lighter I had bought earlier in the night. Out of my jacket pocket came the file that the Guildmaster had given me containing all the information on the leech I had killed tonight. The file going up in flame caught the attention of the door guards. Ancestors, they were sloppy. They began to walk towards me as I pulled off the cover of my “statement.” They stopped for a moment at the sight of the “statement,” long enough for me to drop the lit file at the base of the “statement.” It went up in flames with a whooshing sound. The intruding leech was hung in front of the house, on a burning cross. I stifled a laugh as the flames enveloped the cross and body. I entered the van as the door guards regained their senses and pursued me. As I drove off, I discouraged that notion with an aimless burst of gunfire from my pistol.
The next day’s paper read: “Klan Attacks Bayshore Home.” Humans are so gullible. Unfortunately, the lycanthrope aristocracy wasn’t amused.
The next morning began with a loud electronic tone sounding, waking me from the warm darkness of sleep. I groggily looked around the room for the source of the noise. It wasn’t the alarm clock. The clock had an unfortunate accident when it awoke me in true form. It now sat shattered in the wooden remains of what was once my bed stand. As it became apparent that the alarm clock was not ringing, I reminded myself to clean up the splintered wood fragments, which I promptly forgot again. I rose out of the bed and searched out the noise. Several seconds later, I reached the source of the irritation and recognized it as the telephone. Stifling thoughts of shattering it, I picked up the portable receiver and switched it on.
After my mumbling some form of greeting, the Guildmaster’s voice filled the telephone receiver. “Marcus, I believe we have to talk about last night’s incident. Come down to my office promptly.” His gruff voice betrayed an anger I had heard before. Someone had complained about last night’s activities, and the Guildmaster was upset that whoever they were had put their muzzles into Guild business. I mumbled an acknowledgment and turned the phone back off and set it down on the chest of drawers. I looked back up into the mirror. My brown hair was still tousled from just waking up, and was a bit longer than the normally short, conservative style that I usually wore. My stubble that I had neglected for the past four days had grown into a scruffy-looking splotch of light brown beard. I rubbed at the short, stiff, light brown whiskers that covered my face. My gray eyes were bloodshot, a result from almost constant activity and very little sleep for the past several days. The rest of my face was pale and looked like it was slightly sagged. I made a private joke about needing a vacation.
A stop in the bathroom to shave the beard, and attend other hygiene problems, and I went to clothe myself. The Guildmaster had said promptly, not immediately, which meant he wanted me presentable. Whoever had called my Guildmaster was definitely someone powerful enough for him to call me in to “review” what had happened. Someone in the aristocracy probably, but the Order of Spirits may have been behind it also. They were always looking for ways to discredit the Hunters Guild, due to our political differences. The fact that he hadn’t discussed it on the phone, however, had given credit to my suspicion of the aristocracy. It was a well-known secret that they, or their guard dogs, tried to tap the phones of everyone they felt constituted a possible threat, including the Guildmaster. It had always upset the Guildmaster that he couldn’t talk freely on his own office telephone. I ruffled through the closet in my bedroom and found a presentable light gray suit. It was a little wrinkled, but I didn’t think the Guildmaster would mind too much. He knew me too well to expect otherwise. As I rummaged back in my closet for some footwear, I disregarded the dress shoes for a pair of well-worn work boots. The boots didn’t match the semi-professional look of the suit, but they did make iteasier for me to wear my ankle holster. The small Ruger SP101 .357 Magnum revolver was fitted inside the boot. My freshly-cleaned USP went into a shoulder holster under my jacket, along with a couple of spare clips of Silver Shok and a few throwing knives. There are several cardinal sins that all hunters know and avoid at all costs. One of them is that a hunter is never unarmed – or armed with only one weapon.
I walked out of my bedroom and into my living room where I flipped on the television. The morning anchorwoman was describing the brutality of last night’s incident and how the local KKK had refused responsibility for the act, although no one in the human community seemed to believe them. There had been reports of a body on the cross, but no confirmation by the Tampa Police. I grinned as I thought about the long night that the TCV’s ghouls in the TPD had pulled to hide the burned remains of the leech. I walked across the living room into the kitchen and retrieved a can of soda from the fridge. I found some deviled ham and some bread and threw together a quick sandwich as I continued to listen to the morning television reports. I relied on them to gather information that the Guild’s intelligence group missed. Guild intel specialists were always too focused on the lycanthrope society and the others that lived in our side of the world, and occasionally missed important information in the human world. Once they had missed the fact that the human president was coming into town and a job had to be scrapped at the last minute. Unfortunately for me, the intel group just chalked it up to an anomaly, so they didn’t bother changing their methods. So, I was left to comb through a bunch of useless information to find the few nuggets of joy. The work required a lot of patience, and that particular virtue and I weren’t exactly on speaking terms.
My computer toned to let me know that someone had left me some e-mail last night while I was attending to business. I flipped on the monitor and punched in my password. The computer automatically entered the website that the lycanthropes had set up for their use. I punched in my user code at the entry screen and went through the options menu. Selecting my mailbox, the screen switched windows and listed a new menu. I clicked on the icon for new messages and the screen went blank. Puzzled, I watched as red, block letters began appearing on my screen. “There are wolves who fear what the past may hold. Beware of these.” Then the screen went back to the messages menu. I tried accessing the specific e-mail again, but the message erased itself after displaying itself. I rubbed my freshly shaved face as I pondered the message for a minute.
I glanced at my watch. I had just enough time to meet the Guildmaster’s demands without pissing him off too much. I exited the web and snapped the monitor off. I ran out the front door, across the lawn, and scrambled into my car, a nice Nissan Altima. I would have preferred something either a bit sportier or tougher, but it matched my neighborhood and cover “lifestyle.” Sometimes blending into human society was a pain. A few of my neighbors looked amused at my morning antics, but they did little more than wave as I backed out of my driveway. I floored the gas as I sped out of the cul-de-sac my townhouse was on and made my way through Tampa traffic. For those uninitiated in Florida traffic, imagine old, blue-haired ladies in big sedans versus the rolling boom boxes of the younger crowd.
The Guildmaster has his office on one of the business parks that grace the sides of the main north-south highway, Dale Mabry. At one time, the building was a mansion owned by one of Tampa’s wealthiest citizens. Now it housed several lawyers and CPA’s. The Guildmaster leased out a sizable office on the third floor. We really didn’t like the packs knowing exactly where the Guild, itself, was located, and in the majority of cases, they would just speak to the Guildmaster anyway. I walked through the large double doors and into the building’s waiting room. The building’s residents had sparsely decorated this area with a matching pair of beige, cloth-covered couches, a small wooden coffee table, and a few paintings. A pair of brightly covered rugs kept the furniture off of the polished hardwood floors. At the far end of the waiting room was a secretary behind a large oak desk. A modern-computer and a bank of telephones graced the aged, wooden desk. The whine of the cooling fan was the only artificial sound I heard.
“I’m here to see Mr. Werstand,” I told the young woman behind the desk. She was an employee of the building and worked for all its clients, including my boss. I had mentioned to my boss that the Guild should have infiltrated one of its own, or at least a kin, for the position, but he rebuffed my idea. The young lady smiled pleasantly as she pulled a leather-bound appointment book from below her desk. She flipped the pages and found her place.
“Do you have an appointment?” she asked as she scanned the Guildmaster’s schedule.
“I don’t think so. He called me this morning and told me to come here. The name is Marcus Smith,” I answered, using the cover name the Guild had given me. Most lycanthropes continued using the names given to them when they were born, but my old human name had been invalidated due to the fact that I was considered murdered. Using Badmoon would have raised suspicions, so I became a Smith. The secretary continued to scan her appointment book. She motioned for me to take a seat as she lifted one of the receivers and dialed the Guildmaster’s office.
“Mr. Werstand, there is a Marcus Smith here to see you.” I watched her face contort into confusion as she listened to the response. “All of your morning appointments? But you have an appointment with Mr. Vollen in twenty minutes. Yes, sir.” She looked down at her appointment book and began to write in it. She looked up at me, almost as an afterthought, and said, “You may go up now. Mr. Werstand is waiting for you.”
I thanked her as she went back to rearranging the Guildmaster’s schedule, and climbed the old antebellum spiral staircase that led up to the third floor. The floor was sparsely populated compared to the two floors below it. Only two other individuals had their offices on this floor – a mid-level personal injury attorney and a financial planner – neither of whom even seemed to ever be out of their offices when I had been summoned to see my boss. I walked over to the Guildmaster’s office and knocked on the oaken door.
“Get in here,” a deep voice boomed through the door. Without hesitating, I walked into the office. The Guildmaster’s office was a mixture of the opulent and the Spartan. A lush green carpet covered the floor and complemented the ivory walls. To my sides was a pair of dark wooden bookcases that were lined with books of various subjects, ranging from finance and law to demolitions and assassination techniques. On the left hand wall was an antique liquor cabinet, its crystal decanters no doubt filled with cheap whiskey. Unlike his predecessor, my current Guildmaster had never developed the taste for fine wines and liquors. He preferred rotgut for some odd reason or another. The Guildmaster was sitting at his desk, a smaller version of the secretary’s desk, also made of oak. It also had a computer on it, but only one telephone. The desk was free of paper, except for the morning newspaper, its bold headline seemingly glaring up at me. The Guildmaster was sitting in his maroon leather chair, staring out the large picture window behind the desk. He whirled his chair around as I shut the door behind me.
Erik Werstand was one of the youngest lycanthropes ever to command a Hunters Guild chapter, which said a great deal about not only his skill at hunting, but also his political ability. In his mid-forties, his human form was of an average height and build. Neatly trimmed black hair topped off a stern face. His dark eyes flashed with anger as I collapsed into one of the chairs irreverently in front of his desk. His long fingers tapped the newspaper in front of him as he began to speak.
“Do you know what you did?” he asked. The same tone as the one he had used earlier with me came across as he asked the question. Someone else was angry with me, and laid it down on him. After all, not only was I one of his hunters, I was his personal hitter – the one he assigned jobs he didn’t trust to one of the hit packs or regular lone wolves in our chapter. It was an unusual position for me, both due to the fact that I was very young for the post, and for the fact that the position normally went to a veteran hunter who had close, personal ties to the Guildmaster. My predecessor had been the previous Guildmaster’s mentor before the Guildmaster ascended to the head of the chapter. Before Erik Werstand became the Guildmaster, he was the deputy leader of the lone wolves. I only knew him as a somewhat decent boss, but beyond that, we had no real relationship. Then out of the blue, he had asked me if I would like the job. I had accepted it, and over the past five years, the Guildmaster and I had formed a mentor-student relationship. At least enough of one that I could tell when he was the one pissed off at me, and when I had managed to piss someone else enough that they complained to the Guildmaster. I saw recognition in his eye when he looked at my nonchalant face.
“Who’s angry at me? Lord Vollen or the shamans?” I asked, with an almost bored indifference. I had been working directly for him long enough that I could be that irreverent. At least, I hoped so. Why else had he kept me as his personal hitter?
“Who do you think? Vollen will be here in less than half-an-hour to ream you out for that little stunt you pulled.” He slammed both hands down on the desk and rose to his feet. “Dammit, I even got calls from the TCV’s ghouls protesting your action. A statement does not mean lighting a damned bonfire in front of the fucking vampires’ Hall. Especially with their attitude to fire.” I rolled my eyes at that comment. The vampires had a cultural fear of fire, mostly due to the fact that their bodies are as flammable as three-week-old dried wood that had been soaked in gasoline. Hell, that was part of the reason of why I did it the way I did. I wanted the leeches afraid of letting their overzealous members go out unattended.
“All you said was find him, sanction him, and make it look good for the leeches. If you wanted to put some constraints on the job, then you should have when you gave it to me. It’s not like you haven’t done it with me before. Don’t get pissed off at me if I do a better job than you expected.” At this point, I could see the anger rise in him. A small wave of fear passed over me as I saw his eyes flash with a killing intent. One does not become the Guildmaster without being able to fight and kill with the best of them. The Guildmaster had proven his hunting abilities many times over. I backed down, and sat down with an emotionless mask – my signal that I would behave.
“What you did was endanger the Peace in Hillsborough County. You must understand that. The hunters cannot appear to side with the shamans on the issue of the Peace, which is what the severity of your ’statement’ did. A statement like yours has the effect of a personal challenge instead of extreme disapproval, and that is dangerous. You know as well as I do the political realities of such a situation, even if you are indifferent to the whole realm of politics. Vollen is having a hell of a time keeping the Order of Spirits in Hillsborough in line. Under that damned Spiritmaster, they keep speaking out against the Peace in front of the pack leaders, making Vollen lose face in the pack’s eyes because he can’t make them shut up. That undermines the lord’s power in this county. If the Inner Council of the TCV decides to retaliate in kind to your little statement, then our races could be staring at a county-wide war. Vollen will have no choice but to escalate this conflict. A conflict that you have heated significantly.” I looked at the Guildmaster for a brief moment. This revelation was something new. Vollen had been in power for about eight years. For the last couple of years, he had begun to lose his political support in the packs to the shaman and their lackeys, mostly due to the newly reorganized TCV’s antagonistic attitude towards the lycanthropes. However, the steadfast backing of the Hunters Guild ensured that Vollen’s power base was still the largest in the county. There were two main reasons that the Guild strongly supported Vollen over the Spiritmaster, and neither had to do with our institutional rivalry with the Order of Spirits. The first reason we backed the lord was simple. Hunters were more useful with the Peace in effect than without. The second was the Lord Vollen saved the Guild from one of its most deadly enemies – his father. The first Lord Vollen had thought he could be a Guildmaster as well as a lord, and appointed a Guildmaster that allowed the first Lord Vollen to make stupid decisions. There was only emphasis on results, not on the necessary ground work areas of intel gathering and coordination between the hit packs and the lone wolves. When the current Lord Vollen came to power, he appointed the current Guildmaster with the instructions to revitalize the Hillsborough County chapter and have it take back its position as one of the most feared chapters in the state of Florida.
The idea of open war with the vampires being so close meant that the power was being forced more over to the Order’s side. While the lord is the supposedly the supreme leader of the county, there have been numerous times where either the Guildmaster or the Spiritmaster has taken covert control. If one or the other become more powerful than the aristocracy, the lord becomes little more than a figurehead who has his decrees spoon-fed to him. The reason for this is simple; the packs follow the strongest leader, whether or not he is part of the aristocracy. The aristocracy is just better at playing the strongest and undermining their competitors. Of course, their own powers help them a great deal. I had never dealt with such a situation in Hillsborough, but I had seen it happen before in neighboring counties. It was not a good situation for the packs in those counties.
A sharp knock on the door interrupted us. The Guildmaster’s face drew into an expressionless mask. He motioned for me to open the door. From under the desk came the mechanical snap of a safety on a gun being released. I took that as a cue, and I drew my pistol from under my coat and cautiously moved to the door. Paranoia was a way of life in the Guild. All hunters remembered the lessons of the New York Gang War when a small faction of hunters betrayed the Guild and its leadership to the witch-hunters. They thought they were going to take control in the aftermath, but instead were also killed by the witch-hunters. Consequently, the leeches wrested control of New York City from the lord forcing the Prince of New York to intervene personally. It was not considered a happy time by the lycanthropes.
I opened the door with an easy, fluid motion, but made sure to keep the USP at my side. Standing in the doorway was a shorter, wiry lycanthrope with a cool, detached expression on his narrow face. I recognized him as David Bonner, one of Vollen’s Red Knights, the lord’s personal bodyguards and elite warriors. The Knights were good, but as paranoid as they were, they still weren’t as devious and malicious as hunters. We had an uneasy understanding between the Knights and us. They didn’t try to disarm us every time a hunter came near the lord, and we didn’t do anything that would make them more nervous than they always were. Unfortunately, the Knights didn’t seem to think that the agreement covered me. Badmoons were supposed to be untrustworthy, and the Knights absolutely hated letting me anywhere near Lord Vollen. It was bad enough when I was just a normal hunter, but their unease had only intensified since the Guildmaster tapped me to become his personal hitter.
Bonner stared at me, then at the USP in my hand, for what seemed a couple of minutes. Neither of us trusted the other with the safety of our respective bosses. The Guildmaster ended the standoff as he reset the safety on his weapon. I reholstered my USP and stepped back from the doorway. Bonner strode into the office and swept it with his eyes for threats. It wasn’t a casual sweep either. The Knights were careful beyond what I would have considered paranoia when they were dealing with the safety of Lord Vollen. Relatively satisfied, Bonner took a step to the side. Lord Vollen stormed into the office under the watchful eyes of two more Red Knights. Those two I didn’t know, but I easily recognized their expressions. They were not happy that Lord Vollen was in the office – with me.
Stephen Strongeye Swordfang, Stephen Klaus Vollen, Lord of Hillsborough County, second of the Vollen line, was an impressive sight. Standing a tad over six feet, he was well built, which showed through the tailor-fit dark charcoal suit. A stern, lantern jaw was now softened with the recent addition of a beard of dark brown that matched his neatly trimmed hair. His black eyes smoldered as he regally strode into the office. The rest of his regular bodyguards entered the room behind him and then fanned out along the walls. The Guildmaster stood and bowed his head as our leader stood in front of his desk. I stayed at the door, bowing my head as custom dictated. I raised my head as Vollen’s deep voice filled the room.
“What in the Ancestors’ names are you doing here Erik? I have been on the telephone with the Inner Council’s lackeys all morning, trying to keep this county from going to war. According to Councilman Silanti’s ghoul, the Bleeders want your hunter’s hide nailed to the outside of the Hall. Where is he?” Vollen demanded. The Guildmaster, clearly taken aback by the lord’s early arrival, silently nodded towards me as I stood ramrod straight. Vollen whirled on his heel and moved towards me.
I could feel his presence wrap around me. His eyes bored directly into mine. I had heard of the lord’s psychic powers granted to him by the Ancestors when he was coronated, but I had never seen them in action. From the descriptions I had heard, the lord could reduce any wolf into a blob of babbling jelly. However, I was not gripped by the fear that had been described to me by its survivors. I felt its icy touch, but was not chilled by it. Vollen stopped about two feet in front of where I was standing.
“Come forward, hunter,” he commanded, using his unique variation of the Wolf’s Growl. I felt the anger rising in me as I slowly walked over to face the Lord of Hillsborough County. “Do you realize the consequences of your actions, you foolish pup?” he asked. I couldn’t explain it; I felt his psychic powers, but they weren’t affecting me. At least not as I heard from others that Vollen had used them. No fear was felt, just anger that he was questioning my actions. After all, he wasn’t a hunter. He had no idea how we were trained. He had never performed a job. All he did was order us into action, and then had the audacity to question us when we did what he told us to do.
“I did my job. A job that was given to this Guild by you,” I answered, letting my anger show in my voice, “If the fucking leeches don’t like it, they had better keep better control of their people.” I saw a flash of confusion in Vollen’s eyes. He did not understand what was happening either apparently. At least, that was what I saw in his eyes. I felt his psychic presence wash over me again, stronger than ever before. Again, I felt nothing other than an awareness of its presence. Vollen saw that his powers weren’t having an effect, but he continued.
“You are a fool, pup. The purpose of the mission was not to bring our two races closer to war. It was to show our displeasure with the TCV’s lack of control of its younger members. Instead, we showed them that the aristocracy has no more control over our own Hunters Guild than they have over one of their wayward vampires. The whole purpose of the mission was lost. Perhaps you had better think that over.” I knew that my anger was going to get the better of me if I opened my mouth at that time. So, I took a mental step back, just like the Guildmaster had been beating into my head for the past several years. I could see the lord’s reasoning, especially with what the Guildmaster had told me earlier. Unsure of whether this was another of the lord’s psychic powers or my own logic stepping in, I decided not to contest the issue.
“My lord is right,” I responded in a respectful tone, hanging my head down, “I apologize, and assure milord that I will take a more cautious interpretation of my instructions.” The lord’s breathing slowed. I could feel the tendrils of his psychic powers leaving me and returning to him. The smoldering in his eyes cooled slightly.
“Your apology is accepted, hunter. Tell me, what is your name?” he asked.
“Badmoon, milord. Mark Badmoon.” He looked at me with an appraising eye. He recognized the name. Badmoon was a name reserved for the most unique circumstances, when a lycanthrope has no lycanthrope roots. His face showed none of the disdain that other lycanthropes showed at hearing my name, however. With this simple gesture, the Lord Vollen had won my genuine respect, not just the deference I grudgingly gave his station. His head turned away from me briefly as his eldest son, Jason walked in. Jason looked like a younger version of his father. It was rumored that he shared his father’s temperament as well. In that I took confidence, as Jason was the heir-apparent and would more than likely become the next Lord of Hillsborough County.
“Guildmaster, I have another meeting to deal with about this incident, with the Order. Confer with Badmoon, here, and make sure he understands the truth about his actions.” The Guildmaster nodded solemnly at the command. “As for you Badmoon, I don’t expect to hear anything like this from Erik again. I see promise in you, but you need to control these impulses of yours. Remember, as a member of the Guild, your actions reflect on me as well as Erik. ” With that statement, Vollen strode out of the office. His Red Knights silently followed him and shut the door, almost all glowering at me. The next few moments were dominated by an overpowering silence. The Guildmaster spoke first.
“How did you do that?” he asked. I turned to face him. His face betrayed an amazement that I didn’t understand.
“Do what?” I was confused by his question. Maybe he was surprised that I actually submitted. I couldn’t understand why that would be, considering how many lectures I had to endure from him on the subject. I had figured he would be pleased that I had followed his instructions.
“Resist Vollen’s influence like that. I could feel his powers radiating from where I was sitting, but you didn’t seem to be affected at all.” A look of genuine wonder came on his face.
“I don’t know, although I wish I did,” I replied. Maybe there was something to those stories. “Why did he tell you to make me understand?”
The Guildmaster’s face sagged upon returning to grim news, and he sighed slightly. “The winds are changing, Marcus. The Peace has held continuously for over sixty years, ever since the Great Fatherland War. Now, it is breaking down. I have heard of open wars between lycanthropes and leeches in several places in the United States. In Florida we have the disputed territories of Dade and Broward counties where the leeches have violated the Peace. The State Guildmaster has warned us he may have to call all of the Guildmasters back to Tallahassee to give us orders. The ramifications of the Peace falling are tremendous.”
“So we go to war with the vampire. I’ve been hunting them since just after Initiation anyway. What’s the big deal about the Peace falling? Here, I can understand that it could cause the fall of Lord Vollen, since he has supported the Peace so heavily, and a few of the pack leaders could translate that to his station, but truthfully, where’s the danger to the county and state at large?”
“Because you arrogant young pup, it would be the downfall of the Prince of Florida. He’s too old and passive to convene a war council and establish himself as a strong leader. Moreover, he has no heir to take his place on a war council, and there are several power hungry lords that would try to take advantage of the situation. In addition to all that, there was that damned fool mistake he made with the disputed territories. It could lead to a lycanthrope civil war, in addition to a war with the vampire. All of that conflict could damn well bring in the Pathwalkers, who will make Florida’s supernatural world a desert and call it balance. Next time, leave the body in an obvious place on their territory because, if Hillsborough succumbs to war, the rest of Florida will probably plunge into it as well. Hillsborough, and Lord Vollen, has that much impact on the rest of the state.”
“What would you like me to do now?” I asked. He turned to face me. He shook his head. He sat back down.
“Leave me now. Go back home. If I have a job for you, I’ll call you.” I stood up and left the office. I walked down the staircase back into the lower portion of the building. The secretary was hard at work and did not spare me a look as I left through the front door.
I made my way through the oppressive heat and humidity to my car. I smiled as my senses picked up the myriad of smells and sounds of the late morning day. Not quite the way the world opened up when I was in true form, but stronger than what any normal human would perceive. Then I detected a familiar scent as I approached my car. The smell was of old rubber. I stopped as I tried to place it. There was only one thing these days that had that aroma. My mind made the connection as my car exploded about twenty yards in front of me.
The shock wave picked me up and threw me into the car behind me. I felt the hard fiberglass body of the car slam in my back and a flash of pain as I was slammed back. It quickly subsided as my back healed itself with the speed that my race was endowed, and I stood to face the burning wreckage. The smells of the burning car permeated the air. I began to walk toward the remains of my car as sirens began to scream in the distance. They must have been close-by when the explosion erupted. The Guildmaster came rushing out of the building as several county sheriff deputies roared into the parking lot. One of the deputies walked over to me as more police and fire vehicles joined on the burning mass. He looked familiar.
“Are you okay?” he asked me. I nodded absently as I stared at the twisted wreck. I began to move towards what was once my car until the deputy’s hand came down on my shoulder. I was not in the mood to talk to him. I whirled around, about to rip his arm off when the Guildmaster reached me. He explained to the deputy that I was a private investigator for him and began to answer the deputy’s questions as I walked over to the explosion site.
My first thought was that it was the Bleeders retaliating. A look at the crater formation under the car and the blast effect told me differently. The blast appeared to have been centered on the rear of the car, somewhere near the gas tank. That was definitely not their modus operandi. I began gathering mental notes as I walked around the wreckage, ignoring the stares of the deputies and firefighters alike. After I had circled the explosion I walked back over to where the Guildmaster was still talking to the first deputy. Apparently the Guildmaster had made arrangements before I had returned because the deputy walked off as the two of us moved off to the side, watching a group of unmarked police vehicles enter the parking lot.
“It wasn’t the Bleeders, boss. The charge wasn’t their handiwork.” He merely nodded his understanding, his face showing he had already figured that much out. We walked back to his car, a large black Mercedes. As he stood back, I checked the car for more explosives. There were none. He opened the driver’s side door and got in. I joined him in the front seat.
“Don’t we have to stay for the rest of the police and the medical folks?” I asked as he started the car.
“No. The deputy is kin. He will cover for us.” In other words, he was related to a lycanthrope and knew it. Kin were the family members of lycanthropes that for some reason could not shed their forms. They were our contacts and infiltrators into the normal human society. It was through them we established our “shadow empire.” There would be no disturbances for us from the humans. Our kin would deal with all of the repercussions and lull humanity back away from awakening to the supernatural in its presence.
The drive back to my house went silently. The Guildmaster solemnly guided the car through the highway until we turned into my suburb. His first words were as we drove into my driveway. “Do not talk to anyone but me about what happened.” His eyes flashed with authority.
“You have an idea about who did this?” I asked as I opened the car door and smelled the air. Nothing unusual was detectable.
“Yes and no. Until I can find more out, do not speak about this to anyone, including other hunters. The human authorities will be diverted my way by our kin in their service,” he answered. I got out of the car and was about to go inside.
“What about the media?” I asked, popping my head back in the car. He pondered this for a moment.
“Direct them to the
authorities, or to me. Say that you have been ordered not to talk about it. Lay low for a few days.” He put the car in reverse as I shut the door. I watched him back out into the street and drive off. I filed the Guildmaster’s instructions in my mind and went into my house.
I opened my front door and took off my suit jacket. From the front door I went down the hall into my kitchen, losing my tie and shoulder holster in the process. I began to review my short list of suspects. The Bleeders couldn’t be involved. The explosives weren’t set in their fashion. It also went off in my face, not while I was getting into the car. Bleeders kill hunters, not give them a scare. The TCV was a possibility. One of their more zealous members may have tried to off me, but I doubted that possibility. The TCV didn’t really know who I was in the Guild. Definitely not enough to perform that kind of attack. The Hunters Guild was off the list for the same reasons as the Bleeders; they didn’t use a bomb to scare their members, they just eliminated hunters that they felt were endangering other hunters’ lives. As for the aristocracy, they were another unlikely suspect. Vollen’s political power requires the backing of the Hunters Guild, and killing one of our numbers, even after the incident I had caused, would angered enough hunters that the Guild would withdraw any support for the Lord. Plus, the lord himself had just dressed me down, which was enough for most of the pack leaders and the Order of Spirits. I discounted the shaman because simply, a bomb was not their style. They would have made it look like I had died of natural causes. I couldn’t think of another faction or individual that I had pissed off enough that they would want to kill me. As I wracked my brain, the telephone interrupted my train of thought. Angrily, I stood up and grabbed the receiver off the wall. “Yeah?”
“Same place, half hour,” a raspy voice whispered. I hung the phone up as I heard the click from the other end. I checked my watch. It was just after two in the afternoon. Something strange was going on. I grabbed a leather jacket out of the foyer and walked through the house into the garage. Under a dirty black cloth sat my latest toy.
Harley- Davidson motorcycles have a formidable reputation, even amongst lycanthropes. So when I received a rather large kill bonus in my paycheck – yes, hunters are paid for their work – I decided to buy one. Wizard, the Guild’s resident techno-specialist told me that he had a Harley and he would sell it to me at a rather attractive price. I should never have bought a motorcycle from someone whose job was the real world application of technology to espionage and paramilitary matters. If it had been a Harley, I wouldn’t be able to have told what kind. I think the only original Harley-Davidson part on the bike was the massive and loud motor. Everything had been replaced with newer materials and electronics, including multi-function display gauge dials, radar and laser detector, automatic transmission, and some sort of improved muffler to tone down that distinctive throaty roar. Everything was either wrapped in high-impact polymers or reinforced for combat driving. For all practical purposes, it was a hunter’s dream motorcycle. The down side was that instead of an American classic, I had something that looked like it belonged in Akira.
I climbed onto the bike and started it up. As the two MFD’s lit up and the engine began to growl to life, I reached over to the wall and hit the button to open the garage door. A small electric motor whined to life above my head, pulling up the garage door. Pulling up the kickstand, I rolled out of the garage and down my driveway. Putting the motorcycle in gear, I raced out into the street to meet my contact.
The Cuban café was nestled in one of the many aging strip malls that grace the sides of Tampa streets. This one, Poppa Gus’s, was a
family-owned operation in business for three generations. It was started by a family of Cuban immigrants, and has been the hunters’ eating-place for the last twenty years. We also like using it for clandestine meetings, like this one. I roared my Harley into the parking lot and set the kickstand down. I walked to the restaurant, enjoying the heat of the Florida sun. It was September, and soon the coolness of the dry season would be coming. I opened the door and walked in, suddenly blind by the sudden shift of bright light to darkened room. My eyes took a brief moment to adjust to the familiar surroundings.
The matriarch of the family who ran Poppa Gus’s was standing at the greeting podium. Mama Sanchez, as her regulars called her, was an aging Spanish woman, with shoulder-length black hair, streaked with gray. She was a bit heavier than her doctors liked, but she wore the extra weight well. It added to her maternal disposition. Her wrinkles increased as she smiled when I approached the greeting podium. When I got within arm reach, she came out from behind the podium and hugged me ferociously. Mama Sanchez considered most of her regulars like family, which included most of the Hunters Guild. That meant that Mama Sanchez was one of the safest women in Tampa. We are very protective of our own.
“Hola, Mr. Mark,” she greeted in her heavily-accented English, “Mr. Bradon has already called ahead. We have your table set up.” With that she led me through the cramped dining area to a corner table. I ordered a glass of iced tea while I waited for one of Bradon’s flunkies. I knew Bradon wouldn’t meet me today. After all, it was almost three o’clock in the afternoon, and Bradon was a vampire. Although the fighting between lycanthropes and vampires has been going on for centuries, there have always been informal contacts between the vampire and lycanthrope power structures. Hunters and Bleeders always have contacts in each other’s organizations. Although not officially approved, these contacts are important for the maintenance of the Peace. After all, who better to trade information than the best of spies? Especially since there were no formal diplomatic corps in either society.
I had met Bradon during a hit mission. My target was at a mixed party hosted by the TCV for a visiting Turaki noble. Ancestors, I hate those little aliens. Bradon made me for a hunter immediately and pointed me in the right direction. I soon discovered that my target was his political rival, and he helped me escape after I had bagged the leech. We had been semi-friendly acquaintances and contacts ever since. Mama Sanchez came over to check on me, and brought me another glass of iced tea. I thanked her and laid back in my chair, sipping the cool drink.
The sound of the door opening caught my attention. I looked towards the entrance. A rather statuesque young woman walked in with that unique high-class sway. Bradon always had a penchant for those of the upper crust of society. Mama Sanchez greeted her. I could have picked out their voices over the low hum of the other customers, but I was rather relaxed and there wasn’t any real reason to eavesdrop. The adrenaline rush and excitement of my car exploding in my face was finally wearing off. Mama Sanchez began to lead her over to my table. As they came closer, I examined my lunch date. Tall for a woman, almost six feet, with long, tanned legs showing under a short business suit. The cream colored cloth set off her brown eyes. Long blond hair stylishly flowed down onto her back. I stood up as she approached my table, at least pretending to be polite. I shook the offered hand. She introduced herself as Rachael Bradon in a confident alto. We both sat down, cautiously smiling at one another. Mama Sanchez collected our orders. I had decided on the chicken and yellow rice, while Ms. Bradon ordered a salad. She took a sip of the glass of water in front of her as I waited for her to start.
“Surprised?” she asked as she sat the water glass back down on the table. I shook my head in response. “Philip decided that this meeting was rather time-sensitive.”
“Really? I wasn’t aware that Philip was aware of time during the day,” I answered glibly. It was time to find out who this woman was. She smelled of vampire, but I wasn’t sure if she was one of Philip’s ghouls, or merely an associate to one of Philip’s
ghouls.
“He has his methods,” she replied coolly. Her eyes gave me an evil stare as I took a sip of my tea. She wouldn’t reveal anything about Philip. More than likely a ghoul. They were always zealously loyal to their masters. Some might compare it to the fanaticism of a witch-hunter.
“Okay, what does Philip have for me today?” I asked, getting down to business.
“We heard you had some ‘car trouble’ today. We know who didn’t do it,” she began. Her head came up as Mama Sanchez brought out our food. We thanked her for her quick service and waited for her to get out of earshot, which Mama was used to. Dealing with the Guild for as long as she had, Mama Sanchez almost expected covert conversation. Of course, she thought we were all spies to overthrow Castro.
“So what about my ‘car trouble?’” I asked, returning to the business at hand.
“The Bleeders were not involved in it.”
“Thanks, but I had already figured that out. Too amateurish to be a Bleeder hit. And how the hell did you know about it so fast?”
“Don’t you think that any incident with your name is immediately sent to the Bleeders? The minute the report hit the police network, we knew. Not only was it not Bleeders, but it wasn’t the work of any vampire.” Her eyes held a look of what could be called triumph or victory. What the hell did she think she was victorious about?
“Oh really. How does Philip know this?” I asked.
“The explosion was a result of a timed thermite near your fuel tank, with a backup of C-4 plastic explosive. No vampire uses thermite,” she stated. I smiled at her stern face. Of course no vampire would use thermite. Thermite is an incendiary explosive that burns at around two thousand degrees and can cause certain metals to catch on fire. And vampires are deathly afraid of fire. It’s a natural phobia for creatures that are easily immolated. The slight chance of an accidental explosion ensured that thermite was almost never used by the leeches.
“How did you know what the bomb was made of?” I asked. She smiled in answer. I knew the truth, of course. Just as the lycanthropes had its kin, the vampires had their ghouls. Ghouls were creatures that had drank the black vampire blood before they had been drained of their human blood. It granted them a mind-meld with their master, along with enhanced strength and healing. Although not as strong as the truly supernatural, their ability to hide in the corners of the human world made the ghouls a force to be dealt with. Some of them were liable to be part of the police force. An explosion would have been important enough to report to the TCV. I still wondered how she got that information so damned fast. I would have to ask Bradon that at our next face-to-face.
“Do you have any idea as to who did set that thing off?” I asked, probing my food. She shook her head slightly. We ate in silence for the next twenty minutes. I couldn’t read her expressions, but my mind was racing. She was right. No vampire would use that kind of bomb. What was worse, that type of package was not an amateur job as I had implied. Whoever did set that thing in my car was a professional who made a mistake.
“Philip also has one other bit of information to give to you,” she said, as we were picking at the last remains of our food.
“Oh, what?” I asked, interested. Bradon was always stingy with information, but it was always good information.
“This one is a trade. We need the name of the werewolf that lit that fire in front of the Hall.” I almost started to laugh, but caught myself when I saw her tight-lipped expression. She was serious. This meeting was starting to get very interesting.
“You don’t know who did it?” I asked, with barely suppressed amusement. I was worried she could see the smile I was trying hard to hide. If she did, though, she didn’t say anything. It was nice to see my work was being appreciated. Even though both Lord Vollen and the Guildmaster had dressed me down for it, I was happy that my statement had gathered interest in the vampire community.
“Philip knows it was a hunter, but not which hunter. The TCV has been asking him to find out. Your Vollen has been extremely protective of him for some reason.”
“Lord Vollen. Always refer to him as Lord Vollen,” I told her with a dangerously serious tone, “And what if I give you this little bit of data? Do you know what is going to be done?”
“No, but I think the Bleeders want to have a ‘talk’ with him.” I nodded my head at that comment. If the Bleeders wanted me, then they had probably accepted Vollen’s explanation of the event. They just wanted some retribution. Of course, the idea of having the Bleeders “talk” with me alone wasn’t very appealing. I liked my pelt where it was. I pulled a paper napkin off of the table next to us. I wrote down the name of the lycanthrope – myself – and folded it over. I slid the folded napkin to her. She began to pick it up. I shot my arm over and grasped her hand. Although I do not have my supernatural strength in human form, hunters are required to be extremely physically fit.
“Here’s the deal; you tell me your information. I’ll pay for lunch and walk on out of here. When I am out the door, you can open it and read the name. Take it or leave it.” I stared directly into her eyes. I could see the frustration rise.
“Why don’t you let me read it now?” she asked, angrily. I half-smiled at her. She hadn’t been expecting any trouble on this. Ghouls always seemed to have trouble with the unexpected.
“What does it matter? Call it a condition of the trade. You’ll still get the name of the hunter. Although I doubt that you will want to talk to him.”
“Alright. Deal,” she muttered. I had no doubts she wished she had the strength of her master right now, so she could rip me to shreds. I also had no doubts that if this bitch tried to double cross me in any way, I would rip her to shreds. “Okay here’s the information. Something has the hierarchy of the Order of Spirits in an uproar. None of the lower members or their political supporters know what it is. Philip thinks it has something to do with Vollen, but whatever it is, the shamans have been all over Tampa looking at old city records.” Strange, but I was pretty sure that the Guildmaster would better understand it.
I thanked her for lunch and stood up from the table. I looked at the bill. I left a couple of twenties on the table, which covered lunch and a healthy tip for Mama Sanchez. I walked through the door, blinded slightly while waiting my eyes to adjust to the bright sunlight. I stopped for a moment as the heat of the afternoon enveloped me. The cool, air-conditioned, environment faded as I walked to my motorcycle. As the engine revved up, I heard the door to the cafe open. Ms. Bradon ran out, looking intently at me. I smiled and sped out of the parking lot and into the traffic. I had things to do.
I roared into my garage and cut the bike off. Without bothering to put its cover on, I closed the garage door and walked into my townhouse. I picked up the phone as I walked into the kitchen. I dialed the Guildmaster’s phone number. “Carrollwood Business Associates, may I help you?” asked the secretary. It was the same girl that was there when I was at the office this morning.
“Mr. Werstand, please, it’s urgent,” I answered gruffly.
“Mr. Werstand is unavailable right now. May I take a message?” she asked pleasantly. I wasn’t sure if she recognized my voice.
“Where is he?” I asked. He didn’t say anything about going anywhere in case I needed to contact him. But, with the explosion right outside his office, I wondered if the aristocracy or a human agency had called him off.
“He’s in a meeting right now, may I take a message, sir?” she asked again. Her voice became more commanding.
“Patch me through right now,” I ordered, using the Wolf Growl. The Wolf Growl is similar to the vampire’s rhythmic charm voice, but it uses fear instead of pleasantry. Some of our more radical scholars have called it flip sides of the same coin. The shaman almost crucified some of the more vocal proponents of that particular theory.
“Yes sir,” she said quickly as the line clicked up to the Guildmaster’s office. Humans are so malleable sometimes.
“I said I did not want to be disturbed!” yelled a voice into the phone. Oh, he was very pissed.
“Sorry boss, but it’s important,” I said calmly. I could hear him slow his breathing down, trying hard not to scream at me.
“Marcus, I am talking to some very important people right now. Can you call me back later?” he asked, using his I-am-trying-to-be-patient-with-you-asshole voice. It was a tone that I had heard often enough.
“Hot tip. Something’s really up with the Order. Something that really has a tick up their ass. Call me back if you want more. Bye.” I hung up the phone. I walked out of the kitchen and into the living room. Lying out on the couch, I picked up the remote control for the television. I flicked through the television channels until I passed out.